A Law to Herself
by Shiv5468
Summary: Wikkt marriage challenge: In which we break all the rules
1. Default Chapter

Hermione eyed her breakfast with disfavour. The scrambled eggs had congealed into an unappetising mass on one side of the plate, the rasher of bacon had been overcooked and had come to rest in a dried-up patch of ketchup that looked like it was welded to the plate, and the sausage was covered in a thick layer of grease.

The view was unattractive, but it was still an improvement on watching Ron stuff his capacious mouth with food. He had, after constant nagging, mastered the art of chewing with his mouth shut so she was no longer treated to the sight of his food being moved round his mouth after the manner of a cement mixer; but he couldn't be persuaded to stop over-filling his mouth, and he would sit there like a dormouse, cheeks bulging, as he masticated.

She poked mournfully at her breakfast. God, she was hungry. How she yearned for muesli, for yoghurt, even some fruit, but the house elves could not be persuaded to provide her with anything that might possibly be characterised as healthy. She suspected that they were still punishing her for SPEW.

She still found it hard to understand why any sentient being would chose to be other than free. She supposed that, after years of being treated like servants, they had come to believe that this was all they were fit for, and found the thought of anything else frightening. The idea that you could become accustomed to slavery worried her, because now she found herself on the brink of that condition herself.

Hermione watched the owl glide along the breakfast table with idle curiosity. She wasn't expecting any post herself, so she was grateful for the distraction from her gloomy thoughts. It took several seconds for the fact to sink in that the owl was proffering its leg to her.

She had a nasty feeling she knew what the letter was going to be. She felt like the Lady of Shalott – the curse had come upon her. She fixed the owl with a deadly glare and said, "Go on, bugger off!"

"Hermione Granger, I'm shocked to hear such language from your delicate lips," teased Ron. He caught the tail end of her hostile stare, looked at the owl, paused for the penny to drop, and then turned back to her in dawning horror. "Oh shit!"

"Exactly."

"It won't go away Hermione," said Ron heavily. "We'd better face up to it."

Hermione was strongly tempted to point out that there was no 'we' involved; it was just her, and an unwelcome marriage offer. Fudge's latest insanity: compelling Muggleborn witches to marry Pureblood wizards in some half-brained attempt to save the wizarding world from squibs and mental abnormality. A little too late for him, she thought sourly, on both counts.

She had been aware, once she became a teenager, that she had a marvellous ability to repel boys. If there was such a thing as sexual magnetism, she had it in abundance. Unfortunately, her magnetism worked strictly in reverse. It was as if there was something in a boy's psyche that found the idea of a girl with brains deeply frightening; the only time they spoke to her was to borrow her notes, talk about quidditch or ask her if another girl liked them.

She was one of the boys; she was invisible.

Hermione, being sensible, knew that one day she would find someone who actually appreciated her intelligence – or maybe that was bring romantic – but in the meantime she resigned herself to a life devoid of valentines, dates at Hogsmeade and snogging in deserted classrooms.

After all, there had been Victor Krum, and the boy she met on holiday, so she wasn't entirely hopeless, whatever Lavender might say.

She had hoped that this invisibility would work to her advantage. She had hoped that a reputation for intense scholarship, coupled with the body count of Deatheaters she had taken out during the final battle, would mean that she wouldn't receive any unwelcome offers, but it seemed her hope was in vain.

Married; at 18; before she finished school; reduced to mere breeding stock. She shuddered.

Professor Snape had recognised the Malfoy Owl as soon as it entered the Hall, and had expected it to head towards the Slytherin table. When it had headed towards the Gryffindor table, he scented trouble; when it arrived at Miss Granger, it was confirmed.

He had put down his cup of tea, turned to his neighbour and said, "Minerva, I'd say Miss Granger is just about to receive her first marriage proposal."

"Good god," she said. "Who on earth can it be?"

"Malfoy," he said grimly.

They watched as Hermione reluctantly took the letter. The patented Hermione-glare that worked on errant schoolboys had had no effect whatsoever on the owl, which had an immensely self-satisfied air about it. If the owner were as smug as the owl, there was no way she was even going to consider marrying him.

"There's no point hanging around," she said sharply, pushing at it with her fork. "You'll be getting no treats from me. Now FUCK OFF." The owl left in a huff, all ruffled feathers and outraged sensibilities. It had never been treated so rudely in its life, but what could you expect from a Mudblood?

A horrified silence descended over the table, as the Gryffindors realised what was going on. Hermione was aware that hundreds of eyes were looking at her with varying degrees of shock, horror and sympathy. Some of the girls, being muggleborn themselves, were looking at their future.

It made you wonder whether there had been any point in defeating Voldemort; the pureblood families were still running the magical world to suit them, with no regard to lily-livered concepts like freedom, like human rights, like equality.

Yet, she couldn't bring herself to give up this world, to give up the, well, the magic of magic, not unless there was no other choice; and she didn't think obliviating her and her family and popping her back into muggle life qualified as a choice. Rumour had it that the wizards performing the obliviate were none too careful and that there was the occasional 'accident'. Of course, it could be propaganda put round by the Ministry, but she wasn't sure she wanted to risk it being true.

Ron reached across the table to squeeze her hand. "You know, you've always got me to fall back on," he said quietly. His gesture of sympathy was nearly her undoing, and she blinked furiously to clear her eyes which had unaccountably started to water. There must be some dust in her eye.

The boys were looking at her expectantly; she had to open the letter.

She turned it over in her hand. It was expensive paper, and there was a grandiose seal attached to it. She peered at it in an attempt to work out the name, but it was smudged. At the moment she was only hurtling towards disaster, she wanted to draw out the moment before she actually arrived for as long as possible. Opening the letter would make the whole, stupid situation real.

Harry nudged Ron. "Look at the Slytherins. They know what's going on."

Hermione looked up, startled, and then followed his gaze. She hadn't thought that it might have anything to do with a fellow pupil, but suddenly she realised that someone on that table could be her future husband or, even worse, her future stepchild. She scanned their faces, looking for any sign of guilt or dismay. Which was foolish, she told herself, you may as well ask a Slytherin to paint himself green as suddenly develop a conscience, what she should be looking for was the tell-tale smirk, the look of glee, the triumphant glow of someone who knew he had won.

And there it was. "Draco is smiling," she said slowly. "It doesn't look like a random 'look-what's-happened-to-the-mudblood-now smile either. I have a nasty feeling about this."

Surely not. Surely not an offer from Malfoy, he of the purest bloodlines, the least desire to see them polluted, and absolutely no reticence in expressing his views on that point. He had survived the war by changing sides at the last minute, when he could see that all was lost; and by the application of bribery. She had expected that he would buy his way out of this law as well. Any joy she felt that here was something he hadn't managed to escape by the careful greasing of palms was more than tempered by the knowledge that she was caught in the trap along with him, and she had done nothing to deserve this at all.

She tore open the letter, suddenly anxious to see who was behind the marriage proposal.

Hermione Granger,

You have received an offer from Lucius Malfoy in respect of his son Draco Malfoy under the Marriage (Muggleborns) Act 2000.

You have precisely two weeks to consider this offer.

If, at the end of this period you have no other suitor, you will be deemed to have accepted the offer. Marriage must take place by the time you have reached your eighteenth birthday.

You will be allowed to complete your schooling, but once that has been completed, you will be expected to cease taking all contraceptive potions or using contraceptive charms. The Ministry will monitor this, to ensure your compliance.

Yours sincerely

pp. Cornelius Fudge,  
Minister for Magic.

The boys watched the colour drain out of her face; it was the worst possible news then.

Hermone felt as if someone had punched her. She felt something break inside her. It was the wall of hope and common sense and the belief that the things like this just didn't happen to people like her - good people, sensible people, hardworking, normal people; the wall that she had carefully built to hold back the rising tide of panic; the wall that allowed her to walk and talk and eat and sleep and learn and study as if there wasn't the sword of Damocles hanging over her head.

A wave of anger swept through her, leaving her shaking in its aftermath. She had never been so angry, not even when facing Voldemort, because then there had been something that she could do. There was nothing she could do about this, other than submit. She felt a visceral howl of outrage building within her; she wouldn't cry, but neither was she going to suffer in silence. There was no point in being nice, polite Hermione any more, so she lifted her head and allowed the almost intoxicating anger to have its way with her.

"FUCKING HELL. AS IF I'M EVER GOING TO MARRY THAT WHEY-FACED TOSSER. I'D RATHER POKE BOTH MY EYES OUT WITH A BLUNT WAND. THE ONLY WAY I'D EVER TOUCH HIM IS IF I WAS WEARING RUBBER GLOVES AND HAD A BUCKET OF DISINFECTANT TO WASH THE CONTAMINATION OFF."

Ron nearly choked on his sausage, and Hermione was treated to a good view of the offending item of food as Harry thumped his mate on the back.

There was absolute silence amongst the other students apart from the odd gargling noises that Ron was making.

Then the clamour of hundreds of voices started, asking what was up, explaining what was up, and speculating on the name of her suitor. The number of glances thrown the way of the Slytherin table showed that a fair few people had made the right identification.

Hermione was pleased to see that Draco wasn't smiling any more. Apparently her outburst had managed to pierce even that titanic ego; surely he hadn't expected her to be pleased?

"I don't think we need worry about who is going to be the boss in your relationship," said Ron.

"Yeah, Draco can look forward to a happy married life as a henpecked husband," Harry agreed. "Can you warn us the next time you're going to do that. My ears are still ringing."

"I'm surprised Snape hasn't been down to deduct points," said Ron. "Shouting at the breakfast table, uttering profanities and insulting the ferret – should be worth a couple of hundred points at least."

"I'll have to speak to Professor Snape," she said, not realising she was speaking aloud.

"What on earth do you want to speak to that greasy git for?" asked Harry.

"I thought he might have some idea what Lucius Malfoy is trying to achieve by making me an offer like this."

"Yes," said Ron thoughtfully. "That's a good idea, Hermione. We need to know what's going on, before we can even begin to make plans to deal with it."

"We?" said Hermione, biting back hot words.

"Yes, we," said Harry, patting her on the hand. "We're in this together."

Hermione snorted. "Are you going to be there for the wedding night as well?"

Ron looked disgusted. "It won't get to that stage," he said confidently. "I'm sure we can find a potion that, you know, stops him performing. If all else fails, we'll just have to poison the little scrote."

Hermione realised that he wasn't entirely joking. Last year, she would have been shocked at the suggestion; this year, she was prepared to do what it took to survive, preferably without a trip to Azkaban though.

She looked up at High Table. The Headmaster wasn't at breakfast this morning, which was unusual; even more unusual was the sight of Professor Snape in animated conversation with Professor McGonagall. She caught them glancing at her, and realised that they must be talking about her.

Professor McGonagall had flinched as their surmise was confirmed by Hermione's outburst. "Poor Hermione," she sighed.

"Poor Draco," he countered. When she looked at him in shock, more than a little angry that he still showed such sympathy for Draco when Hermione was so clearly the wronged party, he continued, "Lucius is in for the shock of a lifetime if he thinks Miss Granger is going to make a 'proper' Malfoy wife, and he's going to blame Draco for not being able to control his womenfolk."

"I think I can bear that prospect with equanimity," Minerva sneered.

"The issue is whether Lucius can bear that prospect with equanimity. I suspect not."

Minerva looked at him in horror. "You don't mean …." she faltered; she couldn't bring herself to name any of the things an annoyed Lucius might choose to do.

"Nothing serious," Severus said impatiently. "Hermione is too well-known for him to be able to try anything too drastic. So that rules out poison, mind-numbing potions and Imperio. It just means he'd be subtler, that's all. Threatening her friends, for instance."

"So why poor Draco?"

"He's had eighteen years of being under his father's thumb. Before this law was passed, he was going to marry Pansy, produce an heir in fairly short order, and then they would both have been free of Lucius's interference. All they would have to do is turn up at family gatherings every once in a while. Now, he'll never be free."

Minerva almost felt sorry for the boy, only almost though. "I still think that Hermione has the worst of it, unless you think she's going to be impressed by the Malfoy money."

"Of course not, but I do know that no matter how annoying her friends are they will stick by her. I'm sure she'll give Lucius a run for his money."

Minerva smiled faintly at the thought of Lucius meeting his match in young Hermione, but it faded quickly. "You wouldn't be so philosophical if it was you being forced into marriage."

"Probably not; fortunately my father had the good taste and the good sense to die over ten years ago and therefore isn't in a position to make contracts on my behalf. It's probably the only decent thing he ever did for me in his entire life," he said bitterly.

Minerva felt guilty. She hadn't meant to bring remind him of his father, a nasty piece of work if ever she'd met one. Nastier than Malfoy even, who, for all his sins, wasn't a brutal thug merely a calculating and rapacious manipulator who always hired other people to do his dirty work for him. Diversion tactics were called for; Severus was perfectly capable of dwelling on the iniquities of his upbringing for days if he wasn't distracted. "Mind you, Severus, you aren't getting any younger, perhaps you should turn your thoughts to matrimony. This law could be the best chance for you to find someone to put up with your bad temper and nasty tongue."

He bridled a little, but then realised what she was up to. "But I'm saving myself for you, Minerva. Just say the word."

Minerva smiled again, but her heart wasn't really in it. She watched Hermione leave the hall in a hurry. What on earth could they do to help the poor girl? "I suppose I had better have a word with Albus, and see if there is anything we can do."

Severus looked at her quizzically. "In the first place, Minerva, there is nothing that Albus can do; and, in the second place, I'm not entirely certain he would do anything even if he could."

"You don't mean that Albus supports this stupid law."

"I'm not certain," he said carefully, knowing that he was treading on dangerous ground, Minerva was fiercely loyal to the Headmaster, "but Albus has been worried about the number of squibs for some time. I don't think that he was as firm in his opposition to this law as he could have been, that's all I'm saying. I'm sure his intentions were," he paused, searching for the least provocative way of expressing himself, "honourable – it's just he has always had a tendency to look at the bigger picture and gloss over the cost to other people."

His was the voice of experience; he knew what it was like to be a piece in a chess game moved around at Dumbledore's bidding. He felt a fleeting moment of sympathy for the girl.

Minerva looked thoughtful. "Yes, I see what you mean. Perhaps I'll wait; after all, I really ought to consult with Hermione and see what she wants to do."

"Yes. I imagine she would appreciate that courtesy." Their eyes met in mutual understanding; it was probably the last time anyone was going to ask Miss Granger's opinion on anything. She was trapped now; she either married or left the magical world. Mrs Malfoy or back to being a muggle again. Neither choice was attractive.


	2. In which things get worse

Chapter two  
  
Hermione was as mad as hell, and she wasn't going to take it lying down. Instead of going to Transfiguration – under the circumstances she didn't think Professor McGonagall would mind, and, under the circumstance, she really didn't give a shit if she did mind - she headed up the Astronomy Tower for some fresh air to clear her head, because only a clear head was going to get her out of this mess.  
  
The boys had wanted to come with her but had accepted her excuse that she didn't want them to get into any trouble. She thought she could get away with bunking off a class this afternoon – the teachers were unlikely to give her anything other than pitying looks – but they might not be so fortunate. She also wanted some time to herself to try to absorb the news, before she tried to think of some way out of this bloody mess.  
  
What she wanted to do was wallow in self-pity and misery for a couple of hours, in an attempt to get it out of her system, without having to worry about putting a brave face on for the boys. She knew they were worried – she was worried – but they would be even more worried if they realised how close she was to just sitting down and giving up.  
  
She'd barely had an opportunity to begin to feel sorry for herself when a familiar voice came from behind her: "The future Mrs Malfoy."  
  
Draco lounged against the doorway in a pose that he fondly imagined made him look indolent and stylish, but which Hermione, more accurately, thought made him look like a complete twat.  
  
"What do you want?" she snarled. It appeared that, not content with ruining her life, he had come to gloat as well.  
  
"I thought it might be a good idea if we had a little talk; I take it from your outburst this morning that you don't want to marry me?"  
  
He seemed - uneasy – was the only word that Hermione could think of; and that was odd. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had seen Draco look anything other than supercilious and superior, and they had all occurred during the final battle.  
  
"I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man in the world," she snapped.  
  
If anything, he seemed pleased by her answer. He moved cautiously over to her. He propped his back against the tower wall and slid down until he was sat at her feet. "You've just made me the happiest man in the world," he said quietly.  
  
Hermione looked at him carefully, he seemed sincere, but he was a Malfoy; could he be trusted? She copied him and sat down. They eyed each other across the space between them, trying to work out each others intentions.  
  
"So," she sneered, "a mudblood not good enough for you?" It was the obvious reason for being opposed to marriage.  
  
He looked offended for a moment, and then he seemed to resign himself to the suggestion of bigotry. "I can see why you'd think that, but that's not it at all, I promise." He sighed heavily. "I - like - Pansy," he said. "If this stupid law hadn't come along, we'd be getting married soon, but Dad's got to be careful these days and toe the line, so I've got to marry a mu- muggleborn. And if I've got to marry a muggleborn, he thinks I ought to have the best muggleborn in the school."  
  
Hermione digested that in silence. Draco fumbled inside his robes and brought out a flask, and offered it to her. "Drink?"  
  
She took it gingerly. "Lust potion?"  
  
"Brandy. You look like you could do with it."  
  
She sniffed at it, and then took a swig. She choked on the burning liquid, and tears came to her eyes. She wiped them on the sleeve of her robe, and then handed it back. "Thanks; I think."  
  
Draco took a swig himself, but managed not to choke. "So you're sure you don't want to marry me?"  
  
"Certain. Why on earth would you think that I would?" she said, amazed that he could think such a thing.  
  
"Money; power; good looks; charm."  
  
"I'm not interest in money," she said. "And I've never noticed you being charming to me in the past; I don't see why marriage would change that." He passed back the flask; she took another gulp before adding. "Anyway, Muggles marry for love."  
  
"Lucky muggles."  
  
Hermione was beginning to feel a little lightheaded. She hadn't had a lot of breakfast and she wasn't used to drinking anything more than a couple of glasses of wine with a meal. The Brandy seemed less of a shock, the more you drank: the first mouthful had felt like liquid fire; the second was only slightly warming. By now her throat was numb.  
  
Draco watched in admiration as Hermione knocked back Brandy as if it was water; it didn't seem to affect her ability to ask awkward questions in any way.  
  
"So why don't you tell your Dad you don't want to marry me."  
  
"'Snot that easy," he said, shaking his head. It was his turn for a drink; he didn't think she'd ever hand the flask back. He took a couple of long pulls at the flask – to catch up with Hermione – and then held it out to her again. Her need, he supposed, was greater than his. She certainly seemed to think so. "Here, s'your go."  
  
She took a long swig - "Why not?" - then another. She was definitely feeling light headed. She wasn't sure whether Draco was slurring his words, or her hearing was at fault, but he wasn't making a lot of sense. Something about Dad liking to get his own way, only being afraid of Professor Snape and his mum, Dad only wanting the best for him and buying him the best broomstick, and all the convoluted political advantages to marrying her.  
  
She wasn't sure she was happy with being compared to the best broomstick, even leaving aside the obvious jokes about being a good ride; actually, she was damned certain she wasn't happy being compared with any object. She was a person, even if the law didn't recognise her as one.  
  
She cut through his burbling with a simple question: "So you're not going to do anything about it then?"  
  
Draco didn't appreciate being interrupted at the best of times, and he certainly didn't like being interrupted when he was in full flow of feeling sorry for himself. "If you're so clever, why don't you find some way out of it?" he snapped.  
  
"I will," she said, more to herself than to him. "I bloody well will. I'm not being treated like a sodding brood mare by a bunch of Victorian old farts."  
  
Their not-quite-camaraderie was disturbed by the silky tones of Professor Snape himself. "Tut, tut. What will Professor McGonagall say, Miss Granger when she finds out that her favourite student is skipping classes and indulging in a drunken debauch? You really could have waited to celebrate your nuptials until after classes. You could be expelled for this you silly girl."  
  
"Expulsion is the least of my problems," she said, speaking very clearly. Was that sympathy she saw?  
  
"Whatever your problems, Miss Granger, drinking is not the solution to them." That was sympathy; she had never heard him speak so gently to anyone, let alone a Gryffindor.  
  
He seemed to be getting further away though, but she had the urge to say something, although she couldn't express herself as clearly as she had hoped. "Severus," she said, "I'm not a Cleansweep 2000." She then promptly passed out.  
  
Draco eyed Professor Snape warily. "Aren't you going to deduct points?"  
  
"What?" His eyes focussed abruptly on Draco. "It wouldn't be any fun if she was unconscious, would it. Help me get her to the infirmary. She'll need to sleep this off in peace and quiet."  
  
Hermione was surprised when she woke up to find herself in the infirmary. She was pleasantly surprised to find that she had none of the symptoms that, according to the tales told by the boys, should follow drinking heavily: no pounding head, and no feeling sick although her tongue did feel a bit sticky.  
  
She opened a wary eye; immediately opposite her on the bedside table was a little blue bottle. Hangover potion, she thought, but who was responsible for administering it? She didn't think it was one of the standard remedies Madam Pomfrey kept on hand. It could only be Professor Snape then. There was something nagging her, something in the back of her mind, something to do with Severus – she sat bolt upright.  
  
There he was, sat in a chair next to her, looking at her with an expression that she would have called concern if it had been on Harry's or Ron's face.  
  
"Shit!" she said. "I called you Severus."  
  
"I find it interesting that, of the many transgressions you committed this morning, that is the one that causes you most concern."  
  
"Well, I don't think I'm going to get expelled for drinking or skipping a lesson, not under the circumstances; but I do think you're likely to make my life a living hell for using your first name. More of a living hell," she corrected, adding even more sourly, "If that's possible."  
  
"There are worse things in life than being married to a Malfoy."  
  
"Name three," she said.  
  
He looked vaguely amused, which did nothing to improve her mood. It was bad enough being in this situation, without providing amusement for other people as well.  
  
She glared at him and continued, "It's not the being married to a Malfoy that's the problem anyway. Malfoy Manor is big enough, I suppose; we could probably manage to avoid each other for most of the day, like, like, Mr Collins and his wife. It's the breeding that I object to."  
  
"I thought all women loved babies."  
  
"They don't," she said shortly, "Particularly when they are forced into producing them. I hadn't planned to have children until I was at least 30, if at all. I had plans; I was going to have a career, travel, have fun, not be tied by the foot by some squalling brat."  
  
Snape had some sympathy for that view; he wasn't very fond of children himself. He had always been told that it was different with your own, and that what seemed annoying and irritating in other people's children became merely amusing and endearing in one's own. It seemed a hell of a risk to take, relying on that being true. It wasn't as if you could have a child on sale or return and send it back if you didn't like it.  
  
Severus's response was forestalled by the bustling arrival of Madam Pomfrey. "I'm glad to see you feeling better, Miss Granger, though it's really no more than you deserved. I really expected better of you."  
  
"If you can't have a drink to celebrate your impending engagement, when can you?" snarled Hermione.  
  
Madam Pomfrey put a hand to her throat. "No," she said, "not you as well."  
  
Hermione nodded, suddenly overcome with tears. She sniffed hard, determined not to break down. Any snivelling was to be done strictly in private, or, if pushed, in the company of the boys; she had to be strong to get through this, because she was going to get through this. At least Draco seemed to be reasonable about the whole business, if rather weak-willed; he wouldn't be any help in standing up to his father, but neither would he be taking his side.  
  
Perhaps an accommodation could be reached with the Malfoys? For all the need to be seen to go along with this law, Lucius couldn't be happy at the thought of little half-mudbloods dangling from his family tree. And if anyone could find a way to bend the Ministry to his will, it was Lucius. If he could be persuaded to accept the political advantages to the marriage without any of the disadvantages of children, they might be able to get by until the law was repealed. She refused to believe that the law would not be repealed; it had to be.  
  
She'd need a very long spoon.  
  
"Professor," she said, trying to keep desperation from her voice, "Could I have a word with you later about the Malfoys."  
  
Both Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey looked surprised.  
  
"What do you want to know?" replied Severus.  
  
"I'm wondering whether we could reach some sort of agreement about the marriage, an accommodation of some kind that suits both of us."  
  
Professor Snape's lips twitched, almost as if he wanted to smile. "I would be delighted to help you, Miss Granger." He was mildly impressed that the thought had even crossed her mind; she'd obviously learned that there were advantages to a slightly more subtle approach than storming into Malfoy Manor and threatening to hex Lucius's balls off if he didn't withdraw the contract.  
  
Not that it wouldn't have been fun to watch; perhaps she would have allowed him to go with her, if only to hold her cloak.  
  
"I'm afraid it won't help, for once the Malfoys are as trapped as the rest of us," said Madam Pomfrey. She looked round nervously, and then moved closer to Hermione. Dropping her voice, she said, "My sister works for the Ministry. Any marriage under the law requires you to sign a special Marriage Contract. It enforces the woman's chastity, but not the man's, because after all that doesn't matter does it." If anything Madam Pomfrey's tone was even more bitter than Hermione's had been.  
  
"I can live with that," said Hermione firmly.  
  
"That's not all." Madam Pomfrey swallowed nervously before continuing. "The contract enforces sexual ... congress... between the parties once a month, at a time when the female is most ... fertile. It also prohibits the use of contraceptives. You'd probably be pregnant within six months. You get fourteen weeks to recover after the birth, before the whole process begins again. It's monstrous."  
  
Hermione's fingers plucked at the bedcovers. She turned an ashen face to the kindly witch, who looked almost as shaken as if she'd received an offer of marriage from a Malfoy herself. "It's worse than I thought. There must be some way ... I refuse ... I will not do this."  
  
"That's bordering on the Dark Arts," Snape said, matching Poppy's hushed tones. "Why isn't someone making a fuss about this? That Skeeter woman, for instance? If people knew they'd be up in arms."  
  
"There's a secrecy charm on the contract that prevents the couples from talking about it." A sudden noise made Madam Pomfrey jump; someone had entered the infirmary. "I hope you're feeling a little better, Miss Granger. I suspect you fainted because you didn't eat enough breakfast, but I don't think you should go to lessons today, and should take it easy."  
  
Snape snatched the bottle of Hangover potion, and stuffed it into a pocket. Now, there was no evidence of her first, and only, drinking binge.  
  
Her sense of relief when she saw the kindly face of the Headmaster faded when she saw the look on Madam Pomfrey's face. Something was wrong; time to play stupid, until she found out exactly what was going on.  
  
"Ah there you are, young Hermione. I'd heard you'd been taken ill, and thought I'd just drop in to see how you are."  
  
"I'm fine, thank you Headmaster."  
  
"There's no need to be brave, Hermione. You've had a terrible shock and you need some peace and quiet in which to recover. I shall have to ask you to leave, Headmaster," said Madam Pomfrey. Hermione was wondering why the normally calm and placid Mediwitch was so determined to prevent the Headmaster from talking to her.  
  
It seemed that Dumbledore was as determined as Madam Pomfrey. "I'm sure Hermione is strong enough for me to have a little chat with her. In private, if you please."  
  
Snape and Madam Pomfrey had no choice but to leave in the face of that directive, but she didn't leave without firing off one last warning. "I warn you Headmaster, Miss Granger may appear to be recovering but she is in no condition to cope with any more shocks."  
  
Hermione was becoming more than a little worried by Madam Pomfrey's insistence that she wasn't up to hearing whatever it was that the Headmaster wanted to tell her. Whatever it was, it didn't appear to be good news. She had thought that things couldn't get worse; she hoped that was still true.  
  
The Headmaster settled himself comfortably in the chair recently occupied by Professor Snape, and beamed at her. His cheerful expression was doing nothing to calm her; she had noticed in the past, that the more twinkling and happy he seemed the worse the news he was about to deliver. She had a nasty feeling it would be a request to marry Draco and keep an eye on Lucius for him, just to make sure that his return to the fold of Wizarding society wasn't a blind.  
  
She didn't think she could afford to make that kind of promise; in fact, the best thing she could do is promise Lucius to do precisely the opposite. He wouldn't be happy with a potential spy in the family at all, and he probably had a thousand and one very nasty ways of communicating that displeasure to her.  
  
The one good thing about dealing with Slytherins is that they didn't expect you to be noble and self-sacrificing; they preferred other people to be the sacrifice.  
  
She only hoped Dumbledore wasn't going to burst into tears; no one could say that he stopped short of emotional blackmail to get his own way. During the later stages of the war, Harry had taken to carrying a handkerchief with him for all meetings with the Headmaster – just in case.  
  
"Now, I understand that Mr Malfoy has made an offer of marriage to you on behalf of his sone, and that offer is unwelcome."  
  
Hermione bit her tongue; pointing out that calling someone a whey-faced ferret wasn't a traditional method of accepting a proposal wasn't going to help anyone. Particularly if he had come up with a way for her to avoid the whole bloody mess – perhaps going to Beauxbatons, maybe he had connections that he could use to get her a job there. She'd never wanted to go into teaching, but it was certainly better than being married.  
  
Just about. There would still be children involved, but at least they would be out of nappies.  
  
"Yes, Headmaster," she said dutifully.  
  
"I can understand your reluctance to consider marrying a Malfoy; his rejection of Voldemort did seem a little convenient didn't it?"  
  
"Yes, Headmaster," she said, with a slight smile.  
  
"Call me Albus, dear."  
  
"I couldn't do that Headmaster," she said, horrified. "That wouldn't be respectful."  
  
He patted her hand soothingly. "That's all right Hermione; you don't mind if I call you Hermione, do you?"  
  
She shook her head; what other response could she give? But she carefully removed her hands from under his and tucked them safely under the blankets. Where was her wand when she needed it? He was beginning to worry her.  
  
"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about the law, we can only deal with its consequences as best we can. I'm sure you can understand that the increase in squibs and stillborns is a dreadful problem, and that something needs to be done about it, no matter how difficult it is for you personally."  
  
It didn't sound as if the Headmaster was going to have anything useful to suggest; she was just going to be treated to a mouthful of platitudes on the theme of the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few. 'You try having the babies then', she thought, determined look through the Restricted Section to see if there was a potion that could create a male pregnancy. She was fairly certain that if men were required to get pregnant their opinion would change very quickly.  
  
Dumbledore continued, unaware of the seething resentment his words were generating. "But I have come to you to make a suggestion that, while unorthodox, might at least make the whole process less of an ordeal."  
  
Oh fuck.  
  
"Obviously Malfoy is an unsuitable choice. My fellow Order members agree that it would allow too much power and influence to fall into his hands."  
  
That was big of them, looking after her interests like that.  
  
"We think it would be better if you were to marry someone who is a respected member of Wizarding Society; whose role in bringing down Lord Voldermort is well known, and who could protect you from the attentions of the more dubious elements in our society. Somebody mature ...."  
  
Hermione filtered out the rest of the droning. He couldn't be suggesting himself, could he? Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, wasn't taking advantage of this obscene law to make an offer of marriage to one of his students because he wanted a little halfblood of his own.  
  
Dear god; she supposed she should be grateful that Filch, as a squib, was debarred from making an offer. At this rate, the bastards would be queuing up round the block to marry her.  
  
She realised that the Headmaster was looking at her expectantly, having finished dropping hints the size of elephants about his suitability as a husband. He hadn't even had the courtesy to actually come out in the open about it; she was supposed to fill in the blanks herself and then fall on her knees in gratitude at being saved from a fate worse than death.  
  
Sod that for a game of soldiers.  
  
"A mature man?" she said pensively.  
  
The Headmaster nodded.  
  
"Someone who could protect me from the Malfoys?"  
  
"Yes, dear."  
  
"Someone respected as a result of the war?"  
  
The Headmaster attempted to look modest.  
  
"It would be such a sacrifice on his part."  
  
He wasn't succeeding.  
  
"I mean, marriage to a pupil; just to protect me from the Malfoys. How selfless, how noble, how truly Gryffindor of him."  
  
Now he'd started to preen.  
  
"But do you think he would agree?" she asked.  
  
"He?" Confusion was written across his face.  
  
"Professor Snape. That is who you meant isn't it, sir?" 


	3. In which there is good news

Chapter Three  
  
In later years, whenever Hermione found herself feeling a little downhearted, or worried that whatever task she was facing was going to be too difficult, she would pull out the memory of the Headmaster's face when she suggested she should marry Professor Snape and feel the faint shadow of the immense satisfaction – no, to be entirely accurate, the glee – she felt when he realised what she meant.  
  
Of course, there were other victories that she could have revelled in, but this was the one that meant the most to her. It was this precise moment, though she didn't realise it at the time, that set her to take her first, faltering steps on the path to freedom; the moment when she turned from a girl to a woman.  
  
Of course, whenever he didn't get his own way about something, Severus would always grumble that he knew that it was all Dumbledore's fault, and that it was something else he should add to the list of his offences against humanity in general and Severus in particular.  
  
And Hermione would smile a warm, inviting smile, and he would stop complaining, and simply smile back and sometimes add that maybe married life hadn't been that bad, although Albus was still an annoying bastard.  
  
Albus was an annoying bastard. An annoying, opportunistic bastard but he wasn't entirely stupid.  
  
He was bright enough not to pursue the matter of their betrothal in the face of such blank incomprehension. Being Headmaster did mean that you had less contact with the pupils, but he was by no means unaware of Hermione's reputation for intelligence. Minerva, in particular, was quite forceful on the subject. Her misunderstanding could only be deliberate; he could take a hint. She was probably suffering from shock, and would need a little time to adjust to the new situation, and when she had done so, she would live up to her reputation for being a sensible girl and realise that his was the better offer.  
  
Severus Snape indeed! As if he would make anyone a decent husband. Could you imagine facing that glowering countenance over the breakfast table every morning – it was enough to give you nightmares.  
  
So Dumbledore shuffled off in the sure and certain knowledge that Hermione would see sense, leaving behind a slightly hysterical Hermione who only managed not to burst out laughing because she had stuffed the blanket into her mouth.  
  
She only managed to control herself when Madam Pomfrey's worried face poked round the curtains to see how she was.  
  
"Just what I thought," she said, smoothing the sheets down. "A marriage proposal?"  
  
Hermione nodded her agreement. She was concentrating on taking deep, calming breaths.  
  
"Yes," said Madam Pomfrey thoughtfully. "You wouldn't be the first muggleborn he's made the suggestion to, either."  
  
Hermione feigned indignation. "You mean I wasn't the first; how very disappointing." She was trying to be brave in the face of rising terror, but Madame Pomfrey's next comment wiped all traces of amusement from her face.  
  
"He seems very keen on doing his part to prevent the extinction of the Magical World."  
  
"Dear god; he wants to be a father? That's revolting." Hermione was struck by the image of her holding a baby in her arms, a baby almost entirely swallowed up by an enormous beard, and being surrounded on all sides by toddlers, all with the same, white flowing beard.  
  
"What did you say? If you don't mind me asking," asked Pomfrey hesitantly.  
  
"I gave the impression that I thought he meant Professor Snape, and that I was quite keen on the idea."  
  
Madam Pomfrey giggled. Hermione had ever seen the woman so much as smile before, let alone giggle in a way more suited to a schoolgirl. "Good for you," she said.  
  
Hermione gave her a weak, watery smile. "I'd rather marry either Malfoy, both even, than a man old enough to be my great-grandfather."  
  
"Quite right, dear. Not to mention that beard; have you noticed how much food gets trapped in there. Frankly, it's disgusting."  
  
They both shuddered.  
  
Hermione had never thought about kissing Professor Dumbledore before, and now she was determined never to think about kissing him again. Even if he was theoretically a better choice than Draco, at least on the not-being- beaten-or-killed-or-subjected-to-Imperio front, there was no way she could ever contemplate having sex with him. Not without chloroform or a good stunning hex.  
  
"Right," said Madam Pomfrey. "I'm sure you're off to the Library to see if you can find your way out of this somehow. I'll send an Owl to my sister and see if there's anything else she can pass on to us, and I'll write you a sick note. I think that, whatever your illness is, it's likely to be catching, and I'm sure young Harry and Ron will be sickening for it too. Nothing but light Library work for the three of you for the rest of the week. I'm not sure how much use they'll be, but they'll want to help anyway."  
  
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey." Hermione's illness kept making her nose run. She sniffed again.  
  
"There, there, dear. And call me Poppy; we women should stick together at a time like this."  
  
"Then, thank you Poppy."  
  
Hermione had always loved the library. She'd been so excited on her arrival at Hogwarts by the Great Hall, the moving staircases, and the whole strangeness of the new world opening up before her, that at first she had dismissed the library as being just like any other library.  
  
As time passed, the wonder of the staircases, and even the Hall had faded into the background, hardly noticed anymore; and the Library had proved to be the greatest treasure of them all.  
  
She just hoped that it wouldn't let her down this time.  
  
She ran a finger over the index to the books. That was what she wanted: 'Prophylaxis: Charms and Potions', the standard book on contraception. That would do for a start, then anything she could find on Wizarding Law, Wizard Marriage Law, Marriage Customs, and even a couple of books by feminist witches. There was nothing like a critical commentary of Wizarding culture to point out the realities of the situation facing her.  
  
The Magical World seemed to have stopped in the Victorian Age, or earlier; she didn't hold out great hope of there being some sort of protection for her. They, whoever they were, probably thought it was the job of the patriarch to look after his womenfolk, conveniently ignoring the fact that her dad wasn't exactly equipped for the job.  
  
Her dad versus Lucius Malfoy? She reckoned that would last about three minutes, most of which Lucius would spend playing with his victim.  
  
What else? Ron's comments that morning came back to her, and, with a faint sense of guilt, she also selected The Beginners' Guide to Poisons. You never knew when it might become necessary to take direct action. Did she think she could poison Lucius Malfoy? Happily. She might hesitate to do the same to Draco, who seemed to be just as trapped in this nightmare as her, but Lucius and Dumbledore? Her hand wouldn't even shake.  
  
She took out her parchment and inkpot and settled down to read her first book: 'Wizarding Marriage and Divorce'. She gave a small sigh of relief; at least there was divorce.  
  
The boys came looking for her at lunchtime, and found her almost buried beneath a pile of books and paper, and a notebook almost full with notes in her neat, orderly handwriting.  
  
"So, have you found a solution yet?" asked Ron casually, hitching one buttock onto the corner of the table next to her.  
  
"I don't know; maybe. I'll need some help to go through it though."  
  
"After lunch," Ron said cheerfully.  
  
"You go on, there's something interesting I want to read in Skirler." She gestured in the direction of the Hall. "Go on, shoo."  
  
"What is it you always used to say to us?" asked Harry. "About how we should slow down, make sure that we ate properly, and got plenty of rest?"  
  
"It's called being hoist with your own petard, Hermione," Ron chimed on. "Come on, we won't take no for an answer."  
  
"Alright," she said, standing up and working the knots out of her tense body. "I'm sure we'll be able to think better on a full stomach."  
  
"Nah," said Harry. "Ron'll probably just fall asleep, like he does in Divination."  
  
The boys kept up their banter all through lunch whilst keeping a careful eye on Hermione to make sure that she ate something. She dutifully forced the stodgy food into her dry mouth and swallowed hard.  
  
She had her mouth full of potato when Professor Snape loomed up behind the boys.  
  
"Miss Granger, Madam Pomfrey informs me that you are unwell and cannot attend Potions this afternoon."  
  
All she could do is nod dumbly.  
  
"She further informs me that your two cohorts are also suffering from the same illness, and also cannot attend Potions this afternoon."  
  
The boys were looking at her curiously; this was news to them. Fortunately, they had the sense to keep their mouths shut and follow her lead. She swallowed the potato and managed a demure, "Yes, Professor Snape."  
  
"I have to say that the three of you look virulently healthy, and, whilst you may be able to trespass on Madame Pomfrey's good nature, you will find that I don't have one."  
  
Hermione bit her lip to stop laughing as Ron mouthed 'what a surprise' at her.  
  
"I strongly suspect you three of playing truant. Madame Pomfrey assures me that the three of you are fit to work in the Library, therefore I want a nine foot essay from each of you on the uses of the Vertates Potion, the Trigestes Potion, and the Euphragian Potion. By 8 pm tonight."  
  
He fixed them with a suspicious glare as they all mumbled a variation on the theme of 'yes, Professor Snape', before turning sharply on his heel and leaving the hall in a flurry of robes.  
  
"What a bastard," said Harry. "Now we'll never get anything done at all."  
  
Hermione was staring blankly at the door. She didn't doubt for a minute that Severus Snape was a bastard; he'd demonstrated the fact on too many occasions for it to be denied. However, this morning he had been sympathetic, and she refused to believe that he had changed his views so quickly. Which meant...  
  
"I think we'd better have a good look at those three potions," she said, looking meaningfully at Ron.  
  
"You think he's giving you a hint?" Harry said incredulously.  
  
"Hmm," she nodded. "I know that the Vertates Potion was used as a cure for Lung diseases, up until quite recently. They stopped when they realised that it had unwanted side effects."  
  
"Which were?" asked Ron.  
  
"It affected fertility, didn't it?" said Harry. "Good grief, you're right Hermione, he is dropping hints." He noticed the odd looks that the others were giving him. "What? What, is it so surprising that I remember some of the stuff I've been taught here?"  
  
"Pretty much," said Ron.  
  
Hermione giggled. Some things never changed; no matter how dreadful the situation, Harry and Ron would always be playing sill buggers. It was oddly comforting.  
  
The three of them made their way to the library, and Hermione divided up the tasks. "Since you've shown a sudden aptitude for potions, Harry, you can look up the ones Snape mentioned."  
  
"Yes, sir," he said, giving a mock salute. "You don't think he was serious about the essay, do you?"  
  
"Harry, mate, of course he was serious about the essay. Even if he's being helpful, he's still Snape."  
  
"I'm afraid Ron's right, you'll have to do the essay. We'll copy it from you, he'll never notice."  
  
"You're joking!" He eyed them warily, suspicious that they were having a joke at his expense. "You're not joking are you?" He thought about it for a moment, dwelling on the many and various injustices that Snape had visited on them over the years. "You're right. I'd better do the essay."  
  
Hermione smiled faintly. "Ron, if you'd have a look at the Skirler; there was something about entrenched rights that might be helpful." He nodded and began the tedious task of trying to decipher the book's meaning. The book was old, the pages were foxed, and the language was archaic. It wasn't going to be an easy task.  
  
Hermione pulled the copy of the Marriage (Muggleborns) Act 1998 towards her and began to read. "Be in hereinafter enacted that any Pureblood as defined in sch. 1 of this Act shall be entitled to petition for the hand in marriage of any Muggleborn as defined in sch. 2 of this Act." She quickly flipped through the schedules; there was nothing there that could help her: they were both clearly within the definitions. She quickly scanned the rest of the document: two weeks to reply, had to be married by 18, but nothing about the magical contract that Madam Pomfrey mentioned.  
  
Idly she wondered if it would be possible to marry someone without the Ministry-approved contract and still satisfy the terms of the Act. Suddenly she sat bolt upright. It couldn't be that easy could it? She read down to the last couple of sections; she was sure she'd seen something.  
  
There it was.  
  
The answer.  
  
It was staring her in the face. The Act applied the usual conflicts of law provisions. A marriage contracted under Muggle Law would be as valid as one contracted under Magical Law; it had to be, or there would be a string of new-made bastard half-bloods. And bastards couldn't inherit under wills, and bastards couldn't take their father's names, and bastards couldn't benefit under trusts. And that would be the end of Fudge's career as Minister. He couldn't change that rule, not and keep his job.  
  
Oh yes.  
  
All she had to do was marry a Pureblood according to Muggle Law, and she was safe.  
  
Except, who was she going to marry? 


	4. Will Ron throw a spanner in the works

Chapter four  
  
Hermione's first thought was of Ron. He was available and he was keen, maybe even a little too keen. He'd always sort-of fancied her, but never come out into the open and asked her out; probably because he could tell that her answer would be 'no'. She liked him; just not like that. There had been a point last term when she thought he might finally do it, but the moment had passed. She was grateful; that sort of conversation never went well, no matter how tactful you tried to be, and Ron could sulk for England.  
  
He was the obvious choice on the face of things, but the more she thought about it, the more problems she could see. Ron would want children, and she wasn't sure she wanted to bring children into the world while this Law was in place, and certainly not for the next fifteen years; and it couldn't be denied that they could argue like cat and dog on occasion. Marriage to Ron could kill their friendship in bitterness and anger.  
  
Not to mention the fact that Ron wanted to be an Auror, like Harry; she wanted to campaign to change the Law. She intended to bring the tried and tested techniques of political protest to bear; there would be petitions, and sit-ins, and slogans and placards. She would chain herself to the gates of the Ministry if she had to. If she could find a horse to hurl herself in front of, she would; having first cast a charm to protect herself. There was no point being killed to make a point; she wasn't that Gryffindor. She wouldn't hesitate to use blackmail, bribery and corruption to get her own way.  
  
Fudge wasn't going to be happy about this, and it was pretty clear that he would do anything he could to shut her up. He certainly wasn't above bringing pressure to bear on Ron or Arthur to shut her up; he might even sack them. So, she needed someone that Fudge couldn't touch, someone so out of the reach of the Ministry that there was nothing they could do to them.  
  
Malfoy? Except Lucius was trying to be whiter than white these days, and couldn't afford to annoy the Ministry either or he could suddenly find himself back in Azkaban. He might even tip the Ministry off about her plans, and then where would she be?  
  
Who then?  
  
She carefully listed all of the Purebloods that she knew of in her year, adding in the elder Weasleys for good measure, and then all the Purebloods she had ever heard of or met. The list was surprisingly short.  
  
She carefully eliminated all of the Deatheaters that were in Azkaban, anyone over 60 – she derived immense pleasure from crossing out Dumbledore's name - and anyone who worked for the Ministry directly. It was a mark of how bad times were that a reformed Deatheater – no matter how marginally reformed – was preferable to a Ministry employee. After all, they would have at least one thing in common – total opposition to the Marriage Law.  
  
She then put question marks next to anyone who had links to the Ministry, and another question mark when she knew someone had a girlfriend. There was no point ruining three people's lives. After this careful, logical process, there was one name that stared up at her with no question marks. One name that was free of Ministry and Deatheater influence, and not hideously wrinkly.  
  
Oh dear.  
  
Professor Snape.  
  
Still, leaving aside her initial reaction of wanting to run screaming out of the library, the more she thought about it, the more she thought it was a good idea. Always assuming that he could be persuaded to marry a student, a Gryffindor and his all-time favourite know-it-all. He'd been sympathetic this morning, but whether it would extend to making the ultimate sacrifice and entering the state of holy wedlock was quite another matter.  
  
She headed off to find the Wizard's equivalent of 'Who's Who'. There he was. Severus Saccheverel Snape – dear god, his parents must have hated him – Potions Master, Order of Merlin (1st Class), father Saccheverel Septimus Snape – that explained that then – (dec'd), mother Severine Tertia – blimey, and she'd thought Hermione was bad enough - Snape nee Tolleydon (dec'd). So no in-laws to worry about then; good.  
  
She made a mental note that if children were ever to be brought into the equation, she would insist that she got the right of veto on their names.  
  
No family residence listed, so he wasn't rich then, but there was an impressive list of academic qualifications after his name and quite a few published articles as well. Hmmm, so not just an average teacher then.  
  
The more she turned the idea over, the more it appealed. For all his assurances to the contrary, she thought that Ron still liked her, and not in the strictly platonic way. He probably hoped, somewhere so hidden that he wasn't even aware of it, that they would get married, and over time she would mellow and they would fall in love and enter into a state of connubial bliss.  
  
How likely was that though, when they couldn't spend more than a couple of hours in each others company without squabbling like children. Ron wanted what his parents had: cosy domesticity. Hermione thought that if she had to spend the rest of her life like that, one day she would probably snap and be found crouched in the corner of the kitchen, clutching a bloody knife and mumbling something about how they made her do it.  
  
If they were lucky, it would only be the family pet that copped it.  
  
The more she considered the idea of marrying Snape, the more it appealed. She couldn't be accused of ruining his life by marrying him – he hadn't got one to ruin, let's face it. It wouldn't blight his career, assuming that Dumbledore didn't sulk too much, and how likely was it that he would sulk when he seemed to be issuing proposals like lottery tickets, only without a winning prize. Judging from Snape's attitude towards his classes, he didn't like children, so if she never succumbed to maternal urges, he wouldn't be too disappointed, and if she did have a child, he wouldn't be interested in raising it. Both Fudge and Malfoy were frightened of him, and whilst Fudge didn't worry her, she wouldn't put it past Malfoy to do something nasty to her if she rejected his son.  
  
Above all, she could rely on him not to sacrifice his own happiness for the sake of hers. He wasn't a Gryffindor, thank you very much, and not given to self-sacrifice and other heroics. He wouldn't think twice about rejecting her proposal if it didn't suit him to be married. All she had to do was convince him that marriage to her would involve nothing more than fifteen minutes in a register office, the use of his name, and, presumably, about three minutes to consummate the marriage.  
  
That brought her up short. She would have to shag Snape, there would be no way out of that, but just the once. So that's three minutes of lying back and thinking of, well, anything but sex – dentistry even – while he did what a man had to do, and then they wouldn't even have to speak to each other again. Her previous experience of sex had been brief, unsatisfying and about as sensual as a wet haddock, so she knew she could cope with bad sex.  
  
It was bearable; it might even be preferable to Ron. It had to be said, sex with Ron would be like sleeping with her brother, and it made her feel sick to think about it. Snape would be a stranger to her, and every Friday night muggles went out and got pissed and shagged complete strangers without any difficulty. And if the worse came to the worse, and neither of them could perform, they could always knock back some sort of Lust Potion – he was a Potions Master after all. A quick Obliviate the morning after, and they could go back to their lives completely untroubled by memories of a night of passion.  
  
So, Professor Snape was perfect for the job. All she had to do was persuade the boys of this – Harry wasn't likely to be happy, then get Dumbledore to withdraw his proposal, and then persuade Snape to marry her.  
  
She wasn't sure which of the three tasks would be the most difficult, but she had a nasty feeling it could well be persuading the boys that Snape was the ideal husband.  
  
Fleetingly she hoped that Neville had been less annoying than usual in Potions this afternoon; she desperately needed Snape to be in a good mood this evening. She could take him the assigned essays and then – casually, very casually – drop into the conversation that she wanted to marry him.  
  
That was going to go down well.  
  
Still, it was better to get it over and done with this evening; it might take a couple of weeks to wear him down, so the earlier she started the better.  
  
So, the plan of attack was: first, sort out the boys, then Snape and then Dumbledore. If Snape said no, then there was no point annoying the Headmaster just yet; and if Snape said yes, he could make himself useful and put all those Slytherin talents to use in sorting out the Headmaster.  
  
No point keeping a Snake and plotting yourself.  
  
She smiled to herself; this just might work.  
  
"Harry, Ron, I've found something," she hissed, anxious not to disturb Madam Pince, who was always looking for the chance to throw students out of the library. Her view was that they were only wearing out her lovely books, and that they really shouldn't be allowed to touch them. She threw a quick glance over to the Librarian's desk; sure enough, they were being watched.  
  
Ron could see that Pince was waiting to pounce. "The Room of Requirement?" he whispered back.  
  
Harry and Hermione nodded; good idea.  
  
"I'll leave my stuff here," Harry said. "I've still got four feet to go."  
  
It took barely ten minutes to reach the Room of Requirement, and another five minutes to outline her idea – without mentioning her choice of husband.  
  
There was an awed silence at the end of her explanation, broken only by Harry saying excitedly, "Hermione, you are a bloody genius. It solves all your problems. You marry Ron before your 18th birthday and you're safe. We'll have to get a move on though," he added more thoughtfully, "there's not long to go."  
  
"She doesn't want to marry me, Harry," said Ron very quietly.  
  
Harry's head came up, scenting trouble.  
  
"I don't think I do," she replied, equally quietly.  
  
Harry said nothing, but watched his friends with concern.  
  
"Why not?" Ron sounded reasonable enough, but the painfully careful way he spoke showed just how desperately he was upset by her rejection.  
  
Inwardly she sighed; she hadn't expected him to take it well to start with, she just hoped he could understand when she explained what the problem was. He flinched a little when she took one of his hands, but he listened carefully as she explained about the list, and why some people had question marks. He didn't interrupt or fly off the handle; the old, impetuous Ron was a thing of the past and he'd matured into a shrewd strategist.  
  
"I hadn't thought of that," he said, still speaking in that distant, careful way. He stood up, pulling his hands out of her grasp, and began pacing backwards and forwards, the way he always did when he was trying to think. He stopped suddenly, obviously having reached his decision.  
  
"I think you have a point Hermione, but I still think you're wrong." He didn't look at her, but spoke to the wall in front of him.  
  
"Ron," she said, "if you can honestly tell me that you wouldn't resent me if I never wanted children, that you wouldn't hate me if you had to give up being an Auror, and that your family wouldn't hate me if your Dad lost his job, then I'll marry you."  
  
He looked at her then, saw the truth in her eyes, and maybe saw a little more. She didn't love him, and didn't think she could ever love him; if he decided to marry her after that, he couldn't say that he hadn't been warned. He'd go into this with his eyes open. "I'll need to think it over," he said.  
  
"And whatever you decide has to be the best for both of us, not just me," she replied. "I won't be happy if I think I've ruined your life, Ron."  
  
He simply nodded at that.  
  
"We'll leave you to it then" Harry said softly. "I've got an essay to finish."  
  
"And I'd better write to my parents. One way or another, I'm about to get married. I think I'd rather break the news to them bit by bit." Hermione wasn't looking forward to telling her parents. They'd been enthusiastic in their support of her over the years, even allowing her to stay at school or at the Burrow so she could get to know her new world better; but this could be just one step too far.  
  
Harry opened the door for Hermione, and then followed her through it. The corridor seemed very grey and chilly; Hogwarts was no longer the safe place they had supposed it to be.  
  
"I'm sure he'll make the right decision," said Harry.  
  
"I hope so."  
  
"Have you thought about how you're going to get Snape to say yes?"  
  
Hermione was disconcerted; she had expected Harry to take Ron's side. She was also a little relieved to have her judgement on the matter confirmed. Harry may not be the sharpest knife in the cutlery drawer, but he knew both of them well. If he thought Snape was the better choice – particularly bearing in mind how much he disliked Snape – then Snape was the better choice.  
  
How was she going to persuade the Professor that marriage to her was desirable. "I haven't given it much thought," she said. "I wonder what would persuade him? I don't think an appeal to his better nature would work; he's not exactly the knight in shining armour type."  
  
"Just tell him it would annoy Malfoy; that should work."  
  
Harry was only half-joking, but Hermione was impressed with the suggestion. It seemed the most likely tactic to work. After all, he lived to make people's lives difficult. "That's not a bad idea at all; in fact I ought to mention that Dumbledore proposed as well. It would be killing two birds with ones stone; I bet he's been wanting to aggravate Dumbledore for years."  
  
"Dumbledore proposed?" Harry stopped walking and gaped at her.  
  
"This morning, in the infirmary."  
  
"Good god. That's revolting." Harry put his finger down his throat and mimed being sick. "The filthy old pervert. I can see why you're keen to be Mrs Snape now."  
  
"That's Madam Snape to you, young man," said Hermione, putting her nose up in the air. "And, in future, I expect to be treated with the proper respect and courtesy due to the name of Snape!"  
  
"Thank you, Harry. I'm sure you're right. We have so much in common," she said grandly. "Our love for children, our sunny dispositions, our love of our fellow man, and the way we rush to help our fellow man."  
  
"Well the first bit's right," Harry said reasonably. "Neither of you like children much, though I don't suppose that means that he wouldn't want a son and heir. You know what these purebloods are like. You're a bit nicer than he is, I grant you, but you can't deny that he helped against Voldemort."  
  
"Of course I'm not saying that, don't be silly," she replied, mildly irritated.  
  
"I'm just saying," said Harry patiently, "that you do have things in common. I mean, you're always complaining that you can't get any decent conversation in Gryffindor and that we're all a bunch of uncultured barbarians. Maybe you and Snape will become friends."  
  
Hermione thought about it. There were all those articles he'd published; maybe they could find some common ground. She could see them sitting in front of the fire, talking about potions and art and literature. Mind you, she still thought the more likely scenario was chilly civility. It wasn't how she had wanted to spend her married life, but it would still be an improvement on living with the Malfoys.  
  
"Maybe," she said. "We'll have to see." She shook her head. Whatever happened she couldn't allow herself to be distracted by mirages like that, but she felt vaguely wistful as they headed off to the Library for more research and to finish the essay for her fiancé to be.  
  
Maybe she could look up one of his articles; it couldn't do any harm. 


	5. the proposal

Chapter five  
  
Ron was late into dinner and Hermione was beginning to fret. When he finally appeared, just as the doors to the Hall were being closed, she hissed in irritation. Harry threw her a slightly reproachful look, then waved at Ron. "Over here, mate; we've saved you a seat."  
  
Ron said nothing as he sat down; he wouldn't meet Hermione's eyes, and he was paying a great deal of attention to his choice of food. Eventually even he had to admit that he couldn't fit another thing on his plate, and he faced his friends. He looked wistfully at Hermione, and then abandoned all pretence at being interested in food. Putting his knife and fork down, he asked, "Alright, I agree Snape's the better choice."  
  
Hermione realised, too late, that her sigh of relief was less than flattering.  
  
"Would you ever have gone out with me," he asked savagely.  
  
Hermione bit back hot words; the whole purpose of this exercise was to stay friends with Ron. The truth would never do: this was no time to point out that the only time Ron ever wanted her was when someone else did. Dog in the manger jealousy was hardly a firm foundation for a relationship – mind you, neither was being sneered at in Potions lessons.  
  
"Probably," she said simply. "You'd probably have got up nerve to ask me to the Graduation Ball, and I would have said 'yes'." Largely to avoid having to deal with the whinging. "We'd spend a couple of years going out but gradually we'd start drifting apart – you'd want different things from me – we'd start arguing and, one day, we'd have the most enormous row, and you'd storm out of the house, and that would be that."  
  
She could see Ron wanted to deny that this would be the future for them, but he was too honest.  
  
"And then your Mum would take your side and tell you I was never good enough for you, and she'd probably send me a howler, and then she'd start introducing you to proper young witches who'd know how to treat you right, and one day, you'd meet the woman of your dreams and settle down and get married.  
  
"And she'd probably hear all about how horrible I was from your Mum, and she'd invite me to the wedding to make sure I wasn't going to be a threat, and you'd look at me and wonder what on earth you ever saw in me."  
  
"Would I be best man?" asked Harry. Ron and Hermione both looked sharply at him. "Well, if you and Hermione are going to split up, I don't want to have to take sides, and that might mean I couldn't be best man."  
  
Ron took a long, shuddering breath. "Of course you would, mate. No one else would do."  
  
"Absolutely, Harry," added Hermione. "In fact, you'd never take sides between us, and you'd make sure that in the end Ron and I started talking to each other again."  
  
"That's right," said Ron piously. "Because you know how awkward she can be; she'd never admit she was in the wrong."  
  
Hermione glared at him. "That's because it is always your fault Ronald Weasley."  
  
"Not always; sometimes it's Harry's fault," he replied.  
  
Hermione started laughing. "You should see your face, Harry, anyone would think you never went into the Chamber of Secrets, or talked us into raiding the Restricted Section, and what about the time you made us sneak out to Hogsmeade for a drink."  
  
"We had just defeated Voldemort," said Harry patiently, "I don't think it was unreasonable to want to have a celebratory drink, was it?"  
  
"No," said Ron. "Apparently everyone else felt the same. You couldn't move in there for Hogswarts' teachers."  
  
"Do you remember McGonagall's face? I thought she was going to blow a gasket," Hermione said laughing.  
  
"A whole month of detentions with Filch," said Harry, shaking his head at the unfairness of it all. "I still think that was going over the top."  
  
The three of them exchanged glances, and then collapsed into more giggles. By unspoken agreement the subject of marriage was shelved for the rest of the meal, which was spent reminiscing about old times. But all too soon dinner was over, and she couldn't delay the appointment with Professor Snape any longer.  
  
"I'll walk you down," Ron said, "and no arguments."  
  
"I wasn't going to argue," she replied mildly. "I was just going to say thank you."  
  
"Hmm," he grunted, mollified slightly.  
  
"I'm off to the Common Room," said Harry brightly and headed off briskly in that direction.  
  
"What's that about?" Ron said, puzzled, expecting Harry to come with them.  
  
"I think he's being tactful," replied Hermione.  
  
"Oh. Really. No wonder I didn't realise what he was up to."  
  
Under normal circumstances it would always take a long time to reach Snape's office; for some reason, people were generally dragging their heels, and a simple five minute journey could often take as long as fifteen minutes, depending on the severity of the detention awaiting them.  
  
This time the trip took five minutes, which was odd, because Hermione thought that proposing to Professor Snape was surely more worrying than any detention that could have been imposed.  
  
"Hermione?"  
  
"Hmmm," she replied her mind half on whether she ought to get down on one knee.  
  
"What do you think the sex would have been like?"  
  
It tool several seconds for the sentence to make its way from her ears into her brain, and then another couple of seconds for the brain to decode what he'd said, falter, check again for error, and decide he really had said something that stupid.  
  
Hermione was an honest girl on the whole, but life had taught her that on occasion honesty was not the best policy. When Professor Snape asked what you were up to; you denied everything. When Ron asked you if you thought his plan was stupid, you carefully made suggestions to improve it. When Harry asked you if you thought Sirius dying was his fault, you patted him on the shoulder and said of course not.  
  
When Ron asked you if he thought the sex would have been good, you bit your lip and said, "Absolutely." And tried to look him in the eye as you said it.  
  
"Can I kiss you," he asked. "Just once."  
  
"Alright," she said slowly, "but no tongues."  
  
"Hermione Granger, do you think I'd take advantage of you at a time like this? I'm cut to the quick."  
  
"Ronald Weasley, sometimes I think you should have been sorted into Slytherin."  
  
He smiled, but his heart wasn't in it. If Hermione has wanted to kill Fudge before, now she wanted to torture him first. No boy should have to face up to the loss of his first love with so much dignity; he should be allowed to sulk and throw a tantrum, and generally behave like the child he was.  
  
She wasn't the only one who was having to grow up too soon.  
  
As Ron bent towards her, she closed her eyes in the approved fashion. It was a soft kiss, warm without being wet, thank Merlin, and no tongues.  
  
"There, your first kiss, and no one can take that away from me."  
  
She hadn't got the heart to tell him about Seamus Finnegan; it would have ruined his big moment. He left her by the door, with a last pat of the hand , and didn't look back. She straightened her robes, tidied her hair, took a deep breath, and knocked.  
  
"Enter!"  
  
Hermione wondered whether that was a more friendly 'enter' than usual, but decided it probably wasn't. On the other hand, it wasn't a particularly unfriendly 'enter', given that it was Snape. Get grip Granger, she told herself severely, stop flapping and get your arse in there, the worst he can do is say 'no'.  
  
Or say yes, a traitorous voice suggested at the back of her mind.  
  
Actually, the more sensible part of her replied, the worst that he can do is sneer, be sarcastic, laugh in her face, say 'no', give her a month's detention for even presuming to ask the question, tell Dumbledore and make the rest of her time at Hogwarts a complete bleeding misery.  
  
Oddly enough that made her feel a bit better, because on the whole she didn't think he was going to do any of that.  
  
She pushed the door open, and stepped through. Professor Snape was sat at his desk, busily writing; he didn't raise his head but gestured at her peremptorily to take a seat.  
  
When he finally acknowledged her, some five minutes later, she realised that there was a faint hint of colour on his cheeks. "I presume this is about the essay I set you, Miss Granger. Did you have some ... erm.... queries about it," he asked.  
  
She realised with a sense of surprise that Professor Snape was embarrassed. She wondered if he expected her to ask about the Birds and the Bees, and had been preparing a little speech along the lines of.... well, what? She couldn't imagine Snape explaining reproduction to anyone, although presumably he knew the basics.  
  
Snape and sex did not belong together at all.  
  
"No, Professor Snape. I wanted to see you about something else." She felt a brief moment of sympathy for the poor sod, as he relaxed: you're not out of the woods yet, Professor Snape. Best to break it to him gently she thought.  
  
"I have a proposition for you, or rather, more of a proposal."  
  
She had to give him credit; he worked out what she meant very quickly, and barely flinched at all. She was slightly surprised to see that he was looking at her with a rather worried expression.  
  
"Miss Granger," he said very carefully. "I must ask you this; you don't have a crush on me do you? Because this wouldn't be the first time a ... confused ... young woman had made her way down here to confess her admiration for me. I hardly expected it from you though. I thought you were more sensible than that."  
  
She just looked at him in amazement; her blank confusion reassured him that he wasn't about to be forced to defend his virtue from a crazed teenager. Something about the way she kept looking at him prompted him to add, "There are some female students in this School who do, no matter how bizarre you find the idea, develop some sort of attachment to me."  
  
Good god, it seemed that sex and Snape did belong together after all. She looked at him, really looked at him as a man and not a teacher, for the first time. She supposed that if you'd been reading too much Bronte, he could just about fit into the stereotype of the romantic hero: all Heathcliffe, and Wuthering Heights, and wanting to soothe his troubled brow.  
  
She'd never liked the Brontes, had always considered them a bit silly, and that the whole business could have been sorted out in four chapters if only people had talked a bit more rather than wandering around looking rumpled and tortured.  
  
Professor Snape saw her faint smile, and was not amused. Whilst it was perfectly permissible for him to consider that these girls were deranged, no man wants to think that they are not suitable romantic material. "And you find this idea amusing, Miss Granger?"  
  
Hermione's attention was drawn back to the present issue abruptly, and the realisation that insulting one's future husband was probably not conducive to securing his agreement the first time that you asked. "It's not that, Professor," she said trying to recover some ground. "After all, Harry gets the same sort of attention; it's part of the territory of being a War Hero. I was just amused at the thought of them coming down here and telling you this? What on earth for?"  
  
It was Professor Snape's turn to look blank. "In the hopes that I'll reciprocate of course."  
  
Hermione blinked. "But you're a teacher. You'd never take advantage of your position like that. Good god, they must be absolutely thick to think they'd ever get anywhere like that. At the very least they ought to wait until they've graduated before they make a pass at you."  
  
"Thank you for that glowing recommendation, Miss Granger." There was only the faintest hint of sarcasm in his voice, and perhaps a little gratitude that she didn't think he was that kind of man. Which was just silly really; even if he was that kind of man, he'd be an idiot to try something with Dumbledore on the prowl. Although bearing in mind Dumbldore's latest actions, maybe he wouldn't think there was anything wrong with propositioning a pupil.  
  
"I can assure you, Professor, I have not been staring at you across a crowded Potions class and thinking of you like that at all. If I've been staring at you, it's been to make sure that you don't see me helping Neville," she assured him earnestly.  
  
"I shall be certain to keep a better watch over you then," he said, smiling faintly. She knew he meant it. "Now, perhaps you could tell me why you have this sudden urge to marry a man old enough to be your father."  
  
"Better that, Sir, than someone old enough to be my great-grandfather."  
  
He didn't pretend not to understand that reference; his complete lack of expression spoke more powerfully of his disapproval than any frown could do.  
  
"I think I've found a way round the Marriage Law. It all starts with Seamus Finnegans mother, I suppose. You know she's a witch, but Seamus's father isn't. Well, they were married the Muggle way. There's been a provision in Magical Law since 1732 that a marriage made under Muggle law is equally valid as a true, magical wedding, to provide for that sort of eventuality."  
  
Snape nodded - he knew that – but he didn't interrupt.  
  
"And ever since 1732, every time a law has been passed about marriage, or inheritance, or anything like that there's been a little section put in that says that nothing in the Act shall affect Muggle marriage law. It's even in the Marriage law. I expect the draftsman put it in, without thinking through the effect it could have."  
  
"And this means what, Miss Granger?" She was relieved to hear that he wasn't snapping at her, but seemed genuinely intrigued to hear what she had worked out. She was getting a better hearing than she had hoped for.  
  
"I think that this means that someone who married a pureblood, but under a Muggle marriage, would satisfy the terms of the Marriage Law but without having to enter into the contract that Madam Pomphrey was talking about."  
  
"I see." He was absorbed in examining his quill for a moment or two. "But that's only half the story. Assuming you're right about this loophole, why me rather than Mr Weasley or even Draco?"  
  
Hermione was encouraged when he didn't reject the idea out of hand. "There are a number of reasons, some of them practical and some of them, shall we say, more personal."  
  
"Go on."  
  
"Firstly, I should say that I intend to do all that I can to have this law repealed. I intend to be loud, I intend to be vociferous, I intend to make Fudge's life a complete misery until he agrees to abolish the Marriage Law."  
  
"This isn't likely to make him very happy."  
  
"Exactly. If I were married to Ron or any other of the Weasleys, Fudge would be able to put pressure on them to make me stop. One way or another almost all of them work for the Ministry. Your employment, on the other hand, rests entirely with the Board of Governors. Doubtless Fudge could lean on them, and they could lean on Dumbledore, but it's not as immediate a threat."  
  
"Malfoy then?"  
  
"You'd know Lucius better than me, but I don't think he can afford to stand up the Ministry at the moment. If I went to him with this suggestion, he could well pass the information on to Fudge in the hopes of recovering his position. I don't think that's a risk I can afford to take. If I marry Malfoy, it would have to be under Magical Law, rutting like an animal once a month, and hoping that I could manage to sneak contraceptive potions past both the Ministry and Lucius."  
  
Professor Snape had never before considered himself to have a better nature, but he found himself moved by her courage in facing her difficulties. He could only dimly imagine the horror she would feel at being compelled to, what was the phrase she used, rut once a month. Where tears and tantrums would have left him unmoved, her quiet determination was touching. He shifted uneasily in his seat; surely he wasn't considering accepting her proposal?  
  
He couldn't help but think of his mother though, and the life she had led at the hands of his father. Neither Malfoy would beat her, and she would have the support of her friends, but as time went on she would find herself bound more and more tightly to them. Silken cords, but cords nonetheless.  
  
"I'll think about it," he heard himself say.  
  
"Really?" She was looking at him with so much hope in her eyes it was painful.  
  
"Really, Miss Granger. I am not in the habit of saying I will do something and then not doing it."  
  
"No, sir," she said dutifully. "Thank you."  
  
"I haven't agreed, yet," he warned.  
  
"No, sir." She kept her head down so he wouldn't see the flare of triumph in her eyes; he'd say yes, she was sure of it now, provided she didn't do something stupid like gloating too soon. She arranged her features into a careful mask of earnest hope, and looked up; she didn't fool Professor Snape for a moment.  
  
"Very well. I suggest you return here with your entourage tomorrow at the same time, when I will give you your answer."  
  
"Why?" she blurted, before she could stop herself.  
  
"Whatever my answer is, you will need to make plans. Since you will doubtless be discussing these plans with Mr Weasley and Mr Potter, it will save time if they are present. I can assure you, I have no desire to socialise with either of them."  
  
"That makes sense," she said thoughtfully, getting out of her chair and moving towards the door.  
  
"I'm so glad you feel the suggestion has merit," he said, all silky condescension.  
  
She just smiled absently at him, her mind obviously pre-occupied. Snape sighed; she was probably picking out the wedding robes.  
  
"Miss Granger," he said sharply, gratified to see her jump. "Even if I don't agree to sacrifice myself to procure your safety - I hesitate to call it happiness, because marriage to me can hardly be considered a cause for celebration for a young girl such as yourself - there may be other ways in which I may be able to help. The standard of potions experts working for the Ministry is universally low, and I suspect the list of banned potions is incomplete."  
  
"Professor Snape," Hermione said with a quiet dignity, "whilst I would be grateful for any help that you could see fit to offer me, I can assure you that I consider marriage to you does offer me the best chance at happiness. I should also warn you, that I don't intend to take no for an answer, so if I were you I'd start thinking about 'how' and not 'whether'."  
  
Fortunately that last statement amused him, maybe even tipped the balance slightly in her favour. He need feel no guilt at ruining a young girl's life, when the young girl in question was so keen. Not to mention the fact that it would be a powerful point to bring up in any argument that they had in the future, and he rather thought that marriage to Miss Granger would consist of a great deal of arguing. "Miss Granger, you shouldn't warn your intended victims in that way."  
  
"It seemed more sporting sir."  
  
"Very well, Miss Granger. Since you are so determined to have me, have me you shall."  
  
He would have been even more amused to know that, on closing the door behind her, she leaned back on it, raised her face to the ceiling, and said 'thank you, god' fervently, before heading off to tell the boys the good news. 


	6. Deal with Dumbledore

Hermione spent the next morning on tenterhooks. For once, she found herself almost entirely unable to concentrate on her work. The sensible side of Hermione knew that Snape had no free periods in the morning, so the earliest he could raise the issue with Dumbledore was lunch – a supposition confirmed when both of them were absent at lunchtime – and that she had a free period almost immediately after lunch which would be the logical time for her to be summoned to the Headmaster's office.  
  
It didn't stop her fretting though.  
  
She fretted through breakfast – what if Snape changed his mind? – and she fretted through Transfiguration which earned her a sharp look from Professor McGonagall. She fretted through Charms – what if Dumbledore said no? – and realised with horror that she was staring at Malfoy in a very peculiar way that could pass for lecherous. He certainly seemed to think so.  
  
She would have fretted through lunch – but the boys told her to stop worrying her, and she did find that the chocolate mousse put an end to her worries for a few minutes. By the time she arrived at the Library, expecting a summons almost immediately, she discovered she was all fretted out.  
  
She was deep into 'Poisons: their uses and abuses', when a tall figure loomed over her, blocking out the light. "If I were you," Snape said, "I'd be a little more discreet in reading that. People might draw entirely the right conclusion."  
  
Hermione jumped, startled; Snape was clearly amused by her reaction. "The Headmaster wants to see you in his office. Dear me, Miss Granger, what can you have been doing to upset him?"  
  
She followed him dutifully out of the Library. "How has he taken the news?" she said quietly.  
  
"Very badly, as we hoped." Snape had clearly been enjoying himself.  
  
Despite the gravity of the situation, Hermione couldn't prevent an answering smirk crossing her face. As they reached Dumbledore's office, she realised that they hadn't discussed what tactics they were going to use. "What on earth do you want me to say," she hissed, slightly panicked. She was a girl who liked to be prepared.  
  
Snape smirked at her, and said, "I can safely say, Miss Granger, that you should do nothing other than be yourself." Then he had ushered her into the office, and all opportunity to puzzle out his meaning was lost.  
  
"Miss Granger." Albus was very clearly unhappy. He wasn't twinkling at all; in fact, he had an expression of such sourness that it brought to mind her mother's expression when Hermione forgot to clean her teeth. Hermione didn't think a man who had had the sheer audacity to propose marriage to a girl some hundred years his junior had any business looking so superior.  
  
Her jaw firmed, and she stepped forward briskly until she was standing in front of his desk.  
  
He didn't offer her a seat. Severus, on the other hand, was waved irritably to a chair next to her. He made himself ostentatiously comfortable. Hermione was reminded very powerfully of how much she disliked Professor Snape on occasion, and, judging from the faint smile that flickered over his face, he was well aware of it.  
  
It was as nothing to the sheer hatred she felt to the foul old man behind the desk. She wouldn't put it past him to be using Legilimency on her at the moment, so she dwelled in loving detail on her plans to bring down the law. Let him see exactly what sort of bargain he would be getting.  
  
Snape's advice to be herself flashed into her mind, and she felt her irritation with him intensify. Of course that was what he meant by be yourself: be bossy, be stroppy, and make an old man think that he was biting off more than he could chew.  
  
Fine.  
  
She took a seat, which earned her a still further disapproving stare from the Headmaster, but he didn't have the nerve to comment on her rudeness. "Professor Snape tells me that you are considering Malfoy's offer on behalf of his son," he began.  
  
"I am." Clipped, brusque, to the point, and certainly not affording him the respect due to his position.  
  
"I'm afraid that, as the head of the Order of the Phoenix, I must forbid you this course of action. We will obviously have to find some other candidate for you..." he smiled kindly at her. It didn't reach his eyes.  
  
"In the first place, Headmaster, I'm not a full member of the Order." Something that had allowed them to keep the three of them conveniently in the dark, whilst still ordering them around, and that still rankled even now. "Secondly, whilst any help that the Order could offer would be carefully considered, it is for me and me alone to decide who I will marry."  
  
Snape had his attention very firmly fixed on her. He was beginning to remind her of Crookshanks at his most superior. If he were a cat he would be turning his back on the Headmaster and grooming his tail in patent disinterest. This hadn't escaped the Headmaster, who was shooting Snape surreptitious glances of irritation. Snape's ability to get up people's noses by doing nothing more than being in the same room with them was paying dividends.  
  
Any minute now, Albus would wash his hands of the whole affair and decide that two such awkward people deserved each other.  
  
"After all," she added, determined to add fuel to the flames, "the Malfoys are a very wealthy and powerful family. They can afford to pay for childcare whilst I pursue a career in politics. I'm sure Lucius would be only too delighted to regain some of his influence at the Ministry, wouldn't you agree Professor?"  
  
Professor Snape pretended to consider the issue. "I do think that Lucius would support you in anything that would advance his position. He may be prejudiced, but he's not stupid."  
  
"But that's precisely the point, Miss Granger," Albus spluttered. "Lucius is a very dangerous man."  
  
"Yes, Headmaster," said Hermione gravely, "And I would never forgive myself if harm came to someone I loved or respected..." here she had to swallow her gorge at her hypocrisy "... because I had refused Lucius's offer."  
  
The Headmaster clearly hadn't thought of that, and now he had thought of that, he didn't like the look of it, not one little bit. Malfoys were notorious for ensuring that people who crossed them had short, painful lives or, occasionally, just for the novelty value, long and painful lives. Lucius couldn't do anything too drastic, but he could certainly make a governor's meeting a living hell.  
  
"You may be right, Miss Granger, though I must say I've always found Lucius to be very easy to manage," Snape said smugly. "He knows better than to irritate me."  
  
Albus was glancing between them like an umpire at a tennis match; any minute now the penny would drop and he would ... "Of course, there is another candidate you might want to consider, Miss Granger. Professor Snape. I'm sure Severus can understand the need for you to be kept out of the hands of the Malfoys."  
  
"Indeed I can Headmaster, they would only break such a woman of spirit." Hermione realised that the peculiar expression on his face was intended to be a leer. Albus was disconcerted by Snape's apparent agreement, and sudden interest in Hermione's person, but relaxed when Snape continued, "Of course, my present salary is insufficient to support a wife in the style she clearly wishes to become accustomed to."  
  
That was language he could understand. I'm prepared to do your dirty work for you, but I want payment.  
  
Hermione was impressed rather than offended by Snape's determination to wring some sort of concession out of the Headmaster. She felt rather smug about her decision to marry him; he was clearly going to be very helpful in her political campaign, whether he realised it yet or not.  
  
There followed ten minutes of hard bargaining. When Snape's said that he needed extra money to support his wife, the Headmaster pointed out that board and lodging was free, and would continue to be free for his wife. Snape replied that his wife would obviously need robes and 'other feminine fripperies'; Albus had to concede the point. And of course there would be the children......  
  
In the end, Professor Snape managed to get a twenty percent increase on his stipend. A stipend that could only be called miserly, even after his pay rise. Short of levering open Albus's mouth and extracting his gold teeth, it didn't appear that there was any more on offer.  
  
Her acquiescence was taken for granted by both parties, which did nothing to improve her temper at all. She was grateful when the Headmaster dismissed them with, "I'm sure you and young Miss Granger here have lots to discuss about the wedding." He clearly wanted them out of his office as quickly as possible; the feeling was mutual.  
  
Barely ten seconds later she found herself back in the corridor. She found herself resting her forehead against the cool, stone wall, and shaking with reaction. "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him," she said, over and over again.  
  
"Miss Granger." Snape's voice was surprisingly gentle. She turned, to find him looking at her with understanding. Yes, she supposed he had suffered longer at the hands of the Headmaster than she had.  
  
"He's supposed to be on our side," she said fiercely, not caring if she sounded naïve.  
  
"I rather think we're supposed to be on his side," was all he said in reply, but it was enough. "Now, I think you've got fifteen minutes until your next class, which should give you enough time to find your friends and bring them up to date."  
  
She nodded. "Professor? Do you still want to meet tonight to discuss things? And shall I still bring Harry and Ron?"  
  
"I suppose that pleasure is unavoidable," he sighed. "Now run along to class or I will be forced to deduct points from Gryffindor, and we know how much I hate doing that."  
  
Hermione grinned at him, and headed off at a brisk trot. She was pleasantly surprised when he didn't deduct points for running in the corridors.  
  
The boys had been surprised to hear that the Headmaster had given in so easily, and even more surprised to hear of Professor Snape's invitation to attend the planning session- although it might have been more of an instruction than an invitation.  
  
They were flabbergasted to be offered tea and biscuits on their arrival, even if the biscuits were plain and hard. There were no chocolate biscuits, which Ron thought was shabby.  
  
There was a stilted quality to the conversation: milk, two sugars, yes another biscuit would be nice. Ron's noisy slurping echoed round the room. Hermione thought her decision not to marry Ron had been utterly right; one day alone of having to listen to that over breakfast, without the din of the Hall to ameliorate it, and she'd have resorted to bloody murder.  
  
The faint glint of amusement in Professor Snape's eyes suggested he'd been reading her mind, although her faint wince and quickly subdued look of irritation would be enough to give it away to an astute observer.  
  
Hermione fumbled in her satchel and brought out a list, no point in delaying things any longer.  
  
"Blimey, Hermione," said Ron, "not another one!" Seeing Professor Snape's quizzical look, he added, "She has a list for everything: when to do her homework, when we should do our homework, what books she's got out of the library, when everyone's birthday is, everything."  
  
"It always pays to be prepared, Ron," she said primly. "At least I never forget your birthday."  
  
"What's that then, the guest list?" Ron laughed.  
  
Professor Snape visibly flinched.  
  
"Don't be silly, it'll be just me and my parents. No one else." Hermione was busily reading through her list; when she raised her head, both boys were looking at her in dismay.  
  
"But what about us?" asked Harry. "You surely can't expect to get married without us being there."  
  
"We're your best friends after all. We have to be there," added Ron.  
  
There was a pause, whilst the trio very carefully didn't look at Professor Snape.  
  
"I see no reason," he said deliberately, "why your two partners-in-crime can't accompany you to the wedding. Presumably it will be at a weekend?" Hermione shrugged; it depended on the register office. "It seems to me that it would draw less attention if I were to escort all three of you to some mystery destination, rather than you alone Miss Granger. I had thought we would try and keep this a secret until the end of the school year." There was an underlying note of enquiry to that last statement.  
  
"As much as possible," she agreed easily. "I don't think either of us would like to deal with the reaction when the news breaks. Most of Gryffindor will have a fit, and I imagine the teachers would be just as vociferous."  
  
Professor Snape nodded. He certainly wasn't looking forward to hearing Minerva's views on the marriage.  
  
He peered over Hermione's shoulder and was amused to note that the entry relating to him was two words, Ask Snape, underlined three times and flanked with asterisks. It had already been crossed out. As he watched Hermione drew a thick black line through the entry marked Deal with Dumbledore. The capital letter carried a distinct suggestion of murder and blackmail with it.  
  
Ron had managed to overcome his natural fear of Snape quite nicely, to his displeasure, and felt quite able to ask him, "How on earth did you manage to persuade the Old Codger that you were the best man for the job."  
  
There was a brief pause whilst Ron realised what he had said, and desperately floundered for some way to remove his foot from his mouth. "I mean, obviously you are the right man for the job, I just wondered ..." His voice faltered away in the face of Snape's flat look of contempt.  
  
"He was wonderful, Ron," Hermione said, trying to smooth over the situation. "He played Albus like a fiddle."  
  
Professor Snape allowed himself to be mollified; after all, it was true. "I merely pointed out to Albus that Miss Granger is awfully bossy, difficult to manage, and likely to be more than an old codger like him can manage."  
  
"I am in the room," said Hermione frostily, glaring at the boys who were torn between laughter at the accuracy of his description and horror at Hermione's likely reaction.  
  
Severus however was enjoying himself, and wasn't going to allow the small matter of Miss Granger's sensibilities to get in the way of showing off. "Not to mention the suggestion that Malfoy was unlikely to take rejection well, and had a nasty habit of making his views on that matter known."  
  
"Which I made," put in Hermione, determined that if showing off was going to take place, she was going to get her fair share.  
  
"Which you made," agreed Severus. "By the time we'd finished, I'm not sure whether he was more frightened at the thought of taking on Lucius or a 17 year old girl, but he was certainly happy to hand over the whole nasty business to me."  
  
Hermione and Severus exchanged glances of mutual congratulation, entirely unaware of the boys' interest in this byplay.  
  
"So, now that I have managed to persuade Albus that I should be marrying Miss Granger, what's next on the list?" asked Severus.  
  
"My parents," Hermione said, looking pale. "And they aren't going to be happy, not one little bit."  
  
"Have you told them anything about the law?" he asked. "Or me?" He couldn't imagine many people would receive the news that their daughter intended to marry her teacher who was nearly twice her age with enthusiasm.  
  
"I did send them an Owl yesterday telling them about the law. I haven't told them who I was going to marry. Firstly, because I didn't know that you were going to agree." She made that point earnestly, well aware of Snape's capacity for being awkward at the slightest provocation or, indeed, none at all; no point alienating him now, not until his ring was on her finger. "Secondly, I think this is going to come better from me in person rather than in a letter."  
  
She shot a glance at Snape, and then put her head back down to study her piece of paper with remarkable intensity. "I thought," she said, talking to her list, "that it would be better if we went together; perhaps this weekend?"  
  
"That seems reasonable," he said. "In their place I would want to meet my future son-in-law." He was struck by a horrible thought. "You wouldn't expect me to dress like a Muggle?"  
  
Hermione gave him a considering look, then sighed. "No. I don't suppose it would make any difference anyway."  
  
Fortunately, before Snape had a chance to be offended at Hermione's very obvious opinion that he didn't come up to scratch as a prospective husband, Ron said, "Actually, I think robes would be better. If you think about it, Hermione, you're going to be telling your parents that Professor Snape can protect you from Malfoy. The more ..." here he paused, obviously being very careful about his choice of words, "... the more, striking his appearance the better. You don't want him looking like any old Muggle; you want him looking like a dangerous Wizard."  
  
Professor Snape was studied critically by three pairs of eyes assessing him on his ability to convey a threat by his simple presence; he evidently passed muster, as the topic was allowed to drop.  
  
"So, once you've got your parents sorted out, what's next?" asked Ron.  
  
"Just the arrangements for the wedding itself. I don't really know what we're supposed to do, although I think we have to get a licence, and I know that they have to give their consent because I'm underage. Other than that, I've no idea," she said. "I thought I'd leave it up to my parents, and then we'd just turn up at the Register Office on the day."  
  
"Register Office?" asked Snape. "I thought Muggles got married in churches."  
  
"Some do," replied Hermione. "Some get married in Register Offices. The marriage is just as valid as one in a Church, but they're easier to arrange at short notice. That is alright isn't it?" she asked, worried he might think she was making too many decisions without consulting him.  
  
"I'm sure that will be acceptable. I was merely uncertain what the process involved. I presume on this occasion, Muggle dress will be required."  
  
Hermione's lips twitched at the thought of appearing before the Registrar in wizarding robes. "I think so, Professor," she said. "Do you have any Muggle clothes?"  
  
"No, Miss Granger."  
  
"I'll add that to the list then." There was a faint look of anxiety on Snape's face; it wasn't difficult to divine the reason. "A plain, black suit will be alright, won't it?" she asked.  
  
Snape nodded with ill-concealed relief.  
  
"I think that's it then," Hermione said, gathering her things together. "Unless you have anything you want to add, Professor."  
  
"Yes, well, er, if I could have a word with you in private?" he asked.  
  
The boys took the hint, and scarpered; they weren't sure how long this reasonable Snape was going to last. It was unnatural.  
  
Hermione waited for him to say something whilst she packed away her list. After a few minutes awkward silence, she looked up at Snape. He was blushing, she was sure of it, a faint tinge of colour, but a blush all the same.  
  
"Did you want to talk about the sex?" she said helpfully.  
  
"Good god, no!" he blurted, going even redder. "Is that all you students ever think about?"  
  
Hermione felt mildly indignant; what else was she supposed to think when he was acting like some blushing schoolgirl, too embarrassed to speak? And of course she'd been thinking about sex with Snape, ever since she'd hit on the idea of proposing. Last night she'd had a nightmare about being swooped on by a giant vampire bat, and you didn't have to be Freud to work out that symbolism. "Then what did you want to tell me," she said mildly, quashing her irritation.  
  
"I was thinking that we ought to include a trip to my family lawyers," he said. "A wizarding marriage contract also covers the financial side of things. We ought to have some sort of agreement in place before we married, to deal with property and bank accounts and things like that."  
  
"Worried I'll run off with all your money?" she asked, amused.  
  
"Under magical law, everything a wife owns is her husbands property. It's rather more a question of making sure I won't run off with your money," he replied.  
  
"Oh." Hermione thought about that for a moment. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, but it couldn't do any harm to set things out in black and white. "Yes, I think that's a good idea."  
  
"I'll make the arrangements then, perhaps after we've seen your parents. Always assuming that they agree, of course."  
  
She simply nodded, and headed for the door. She paused, with the door half open, when he added awkwardly, "And about the sex, well, there's no actual rush is there?"  
  
"No, there isn't." She paused, uncertain whether to push matters further, then pressed on. "I'm not sure that putting it off is a good idea; it won't make it any easier in the long run."  
  
"I'd just rather wait until you had left school, if possible," he said, unable to meet her eyes.  
  
Hermione felt a like a virgin sacrifice that had been rejected by the dragon for being too stringy, but she repressed her hurt; it wasn't as if she was keen on having sex with him either. "Ok," she said.  
  
"I suppose most men would be envious," he said bitterly. "I'm marrying a passably attractive woman, who's half my age. It seems to be most middle- aged men's fantasy."  
  
Passably attractive, he thought she was passably attractive? That was very nearly a compliment. Not that that was the point.  
  
"I understand," Hermione said, and she did. It was one thing to contemplate having sex with a stranger; it was another thing entirely to contemplate breaking the taboo about relationships between pupils and staff. "If it helps, I promise not to wear my Head Girl's badge to bed, just in case, we have to, you know, before the end of the school year."  
  
Professor Snape gave a snort of laughter, quickly suppressed. "Oddly enough, I think it will."  
  
Hermione said seriously, "You do know, I'm very grateful for this."  
  
Snape's features softened for a moment, then the Slytherin mask descended again. "And you do know I'm only doing it to annoy Albus and Lucius," he said briskly.  
  
Hermione didn't know where the impulse came from, or the courage to carry it out, but she walked across the room, stood on tiptoe and kissed the cheek of a very surprised Severus. "I hope," she said, "that once I've left school we can be friends at least. I think I'd like that."  
  
She left the room before he had a chance to reply. Severus looked after her, and, very softly, said, "I think I'd like that too." 


	7. Meeting the parents

Severus Snape sat in his rooms and wondered quite how he'd arrived in this mess. Tomorrow, he was due to meet his future parents-in-law; presumably they would want to know why on earth he had agreed to this mad scheme, and he wasn't sure that he could give them a sensible reason.  
  
It clearly was madness for a man of his age and disposition to be considering marriage at all, let alone to Hermione Granger, know-it-all of this parish.  
  
He'd never really noticed her as a distinct entity until the last year of the War; he'd always thought of her as an adjunct to Potter, or part of the Trio, and disliked her accordingly. That ended the night he overheard her shouting at Harry.  
  
They'd been arguing about him, so he'd stayed to listen. Potter, as usual was whining about the unfairness of life, and blaming him for most of the ills that had befallen him.  
  
"Oh, for god's sake, Harry," she'd exploded. "Will you grow up? You don't have to like the man, but you do have to listen to what he tells you. You've got to... we've got to stop running around like children, thinking we can solve everything ourselves and pull together."  
  
"But he's so nasty," Potter had quavered.  
  
"So would you be if you had to spend all you time in the company of Death Eaters, trying to find out useful information, and constantly worrying whether you're going to do or say something that's going to put him in danger. He spends ages working out some convoluted plot with Dumbledore and then we go and mess it all up by doing what we were told not to do. What happens if Voldemort decides his information is useless, or worse, that he's a traitor, because of something we've done. He'll be killed, and it won't be quick. He may not have the nicest temper, but you can't deny he's loyal and brave, do you want that on your conscience?"  
  
He didn't hear what Potter mumbled in reply, but apparently he was casting doubts on his loyalty, because Granger had snapped, "Bollocks Harry. If he'd wanted you dead, you'd be dead by now."  
  
Potter conceded the point with ill grace. "All right, I'll make an effort to be civil to the Greasy Git, but don't expect me to like him."  
  
"That's all I ask Harry. I don't want to lose you, you silly sod. Friends are hard to come by."  
  
The last thing he heard, before beating a hasty retreat was Harry asking whether she was going to 'have a go at Snape'.  
  
He'd never expected her to follow through on her promise to do so, but shortly afterwards she'd asked to have a word with him. She was rather more tactful with him than she had been with Potter, merely pointing out that keeping them in the dark just lead to trouble, so why didn't they actually try treating them like adults for once.  
  
He restrained himself from pointing out that Potter had to behave like an adult in order to deserve being treated like one, and had made some non- committal reply, but at the next Order meeting he had suggested to Albus that the trio should be allowed to stay for at least some of it.  
  
Dumbledore was adamant that they wouldn't be full members of the Order until they were of age, and, rather conveniently, Voldemort had been dead by then.  
  
Potter had been as good as his word to Hermione, and a tentative truce had been declared. He and Potter didn't like each other, but they could work together, particularly if Hermione was there to ensure Potter's best behaviour. He, of course, was immune to glares thrown at him by teenaged girls.  
  
She was certainly a forceful girl, which was probably not conducive to marital bliss.  
  
Leaving aside the issue of her forceful personality, there was also the sheer revulsion he felt at the idea of bedding a student, even once. He'd been horrified when Pomfrey had passed the news on to him that the Headmaster had been on the brink of proposing to Hermione. He hadn't thought that there was any cruelty or betrayal that could surprise him any more, but even Death Eaters had more honour than that. How often did you get to say that in a moral debate?  
  
Miss Granger, he corrected himself. It would be unwise to get used to thinking of her as Hermione until after graduation.  
  
It had almost been Slytherin, the way she'd tried to think of all the angles and how she could drag some consolation out of the whole sorry mess. In the end he supposed that had tipped the balance from mild interest to being prepared to marry the chit.  
  
It wasn't as if they would have to live together or anything, his life would continue happily along its present path, but with a substantial payrise to soften the blow.  
  
He liked Lucius; they were old friends in many ways. He justified his continued visits to Malfoy Manor to Dumbledore as keeping an eye on Lucius, but it was the only place he could have a civilised conversation, a decent glass of wine, and could make a few jokes without Minerva giving him a frosty glare.  
  
Some people had no sense of humour at all.  
  
It couldn't be denied that the man was a monster though: the Ministry had defanged him, but the poison was still there. His weakness was that he couldn't conceive that a Mudblood could have anything to offer him. Hermione would never be able to strike a deal with him, because he couldn't conceive of her as human let alone his equal. Why should he compromise to get what he wanted, when he could simply enforce his wishes in any number of unpleasant ways?  
  
Hermione stood about as much chance of dealing with Lucius Malfoy as she did of convincing water to run uphill. Less, really, because there was almost certainly a Charm to reverse gravity but there was no magic in the world that could convince Lucius to actually talk to her rather than issuing orders. .  
  
It wouldn't stop her trying though, and he knew from bitter experience that when she set her mind to something she didn't give up, even in the face of insuperable odds. He supposed it was admirable really, but when dealing with Lucius, it was likely to prove dangerous.  
  
Somehow, her fate had become symbolic of sheer waste of time the War had turned out to be. Nothing had changed just because Voldemort had gone. What had been the sodding point of risking life and limb on a daily basis for seven fucking years (he took a deep breath) if at the end of it, Dumbledore betrayed everything that he had stood for, and everything that Severus had done on his behalf.  
  
It made the whole business pointless: all those lives squandered so people could bend their knee to the tyranny of the Ministry rather than Tom Riddle.  
  
Sod that for a game of soldiers.  
  
He'd seen what his father had managed to do to his mother over a lifetime of abuse and contempt, and he was damned if he was going to see Hermione turn into a blank-eyed, shambling wreck.  
  
It was a little late in the day to be developing altruism, and he fervently hoped that he would get over it soon. Nor was he unaware how wildly unsuited he was to the role of knight in shining armour, and how ridiculous the whole thing made him look. At least Albus thought he'd been tricked into it, so he could console himself with the thought that his employer thought he was stupid rather than noble, and wasn't above trying to take mercenary advantage of the situation.  
  
And Lucius would be fit to be tied at the news, which would be amusing. He might even buy them a wedding present: something gaudy and tasteless for his pet Gryffindor, accompanied with some snide remarks about younger wives. It was a shame he couldn't ask him to be best man really. Malfoy, in a Muggle Register Office, watching his prize go to Severus; it would almost be worth marrying the girl for that alone. Perhaps he could have a word with Hermione, and convince her that it would be a good way to smooth things over.  
  
Ah well, it was a nice dream.  
  
He picked up his book, and turned to his bookmark. A little poetry to soothe the soul before bedtime......  
  
Let not young souls be smothered out before They do quaint deeds and fully flaunt their pride......  
  
Bugger, even the books were mocking him tonight. He snapped the book shut and headed off for bed thoroughly disgusted with the world and himself.  
  
His mood hadn't improved at all, and by the time Miss Granger turned up at their agreed rendezvous – on time, so he couldn't deduct points, which was annoying in itself – he was thoroughly out of sorts.  
  
Hermione took one look at him, and could tell that he was in a foul mood. Six years in Potions allowed you to hone your skills at guessing the Potions Master's mood to perfection. He hadn't reached the stage of the throbbing vein in his temple and the tendency to spit when shouting, but he wasn't far off.  
  
Wasn't that going to make a wonderful impact on her parents? She was also guiltily aware that she may in the past, from time to time, have expressed an opinion on Snape's morals, person and character that may not have created a favourable impression.  
  
She had a nasty feeling that this afternoon was going to turn out to be an absolute sodding disaster.  
  
Snape noticed her looking over him critically. "Do I pass inspection, Madam?" he sneered. "Because, if not, we can always call this off."  
  
"You're not getting out of it that easily," she hissed at him, casting worried looks round to see who could hear them.  
  
"I didn't mean..." He took a deep breath. He'd faced Voldemort; he'd faced Dumbledore; he'd even faced Minerva; he could certainly face two Muggles. He realised that Miss Granger was almost as worried as he was, which was disconcerting. "I'm sure it will be fine," he said soothingly, even though he was fairly certain that it wouldn't be. Miss Granger wasn't convinced.  
  
Something more was needed to soothe her nerves. A plan; she liked plans, they made her feel that the situation was under control even when it was manifestly going tits up with a vengeance.  
  
"What we need to do," he said thoughtfully, "is to agree on some sort of strategy. Which one of your parents is the one who makes the decisions?"  
  
"My mother," she said. "They take decisions jointly mostly, but I'd say she had the last word."  
  
Of course, it would be her mother, he thought wryly.  
  
"Right. So I'd better concentrate on your mother." Hermione looked at him doubtfully. "I can assure you, Miss Granger, that I am perfectly capable of being charming for a couple of hours."  
  
She smiled weakly. "I'm sure you are."  
  
"You will have to lie better than that if you want to convince your parents that this is a good idea." He felt mildly irritated that she thought he couldn't be charming. Of course he wasn't pleasant to his students, he didn't have to be, and there were other ways of making them do what he wanted. Outside of student-teacher relations – he winced at that – he had to be more circumspect and rely on his powers of persuasion.  
  
Or Imperio.  
  
She laughed a little at that. "Well, I suppose you had to be charming to Voldemort. If you apply the same tactics..."  
  
"Are you comparing your mother to a deranged megalomaniac? I'm not sure I would have agreed to marry you if I'd known; if you take after your mother....."  
  
He was congratulating himself on putting her at her ease - it would be a lot easier to persuade her parents she was safe in his hands if she seemed comfortable in his company – when Hermione smiled up at him and said, "Yes, I think you're perfectly capable of charming my mother."  
  
He wasn't sure that he was entirely happy to be so transparent to a seventeen-year-old girl. Nor was he so sure that she couldn't have come to terms with Lucius after all.  
  
Bugger. And it was too late to back out now.  
  
Still, at least married life wasn't going to be dull.  
  
Mr Granger wasn't happy to see him at all, and made that clear, despite not saying a word. Mrs Granger seemed nice enough, and put them on first name terms straight away. It made him feel uncomfortable, as if he were there on false pretences. Based on Hermione's performance earlier, he was wondering whether this was entirely accidental.  
  
His suspicions were confirmed when Elizabeth, having carefully waited until he had settled in a cosy armchair in the lounge and taken a mouthful of hot tea, announced, "So, this is the man you've decided to marry."  
  
Good, he thought, but not good enough. He'd spent ten years, man and boy in the Inner Circle. Once you'd heard Voldemort announce that there was a traitor among them without flinching, you could pretty much take anything in your stride.  
  
He calmly swallowed his tea, and took another sip.  
  
"Mu-um," came Hermione's exasperated voice.  
  
Mr Granger said nothing, but didn't look surprised; her parents had obviously discussed this before he and Hermione had arrived. He wondered what conclusion they'd reached. Not completely opposed to the marriage, but neither were they happy at the prospect.  
  
Neither was he, if the truth be told.  
  
"I'm sorry dear, but it was pretty obvious from your Owls what the problem was, and then you make arrangements to visit during term time with a man in tow. It's the only explanation," Mrs Granger said firmly.  
  
"I can see where your daughter gets her intelligence," Severus said, and smiled. It wasn't a nice smile at all; it was a matter of establishing dominance now, he was back on familiar territory.  
  
Mrs Granger had acknowledged the point and then offered to show him the flowers in the conservatory. Hermione made no move to accompany them, and merely shrugged in reply to his reproachful look.  
  
He didn't like the look of the chair he was offered, some wicker thing, that didn't look like it would take his weight, but he could hardly decline.  
  
"So, why do you want to marry my daughter?" she asked, taking a seat opposite him.  
  
"'Want' is too strong a word," he replied seriously. "However, her other suitor is Draco Malfoy, and his father, Lucius, is a thoroughly nasty piece of work."  
  
"I see. What about Ron Weasley; he seems fond of Hermione, wouldn't he make a more appropriate choice?" More appropriate than her teacher and a man twenty years her senior was the unspoken question.  
  
"He would, but whether he would be able to protect Hermione from Malfoy is another matter. He's a powerful man with many friends, and few scruples."  
  
"So, is Malfoy really that dangerous," she asked.  
  
"Worse," he said shortly. "He'd break her within a week." He wasn't going to go into details.  
  
"Hermione is a strong-willed woman."  
  
"Have you heard of Imperio?" he asked. "It's a spell to control the mind. Technically it's illegal, but that wouldn't stop Lucius. He could order her to do anything, and she'd obey."  
  
She looked unconvinced. He drew his wand, and said, "May I?"  
  
She went white but nodded her agreement.  
  
"Imperio," he said softly. He didn't want Hermione realising what he was doing. "Mrs Granger, I could tell you to agree to the marriage, and you would; I could tell you to kill your husband, and you would; you would do anything that I tell you, wouldn't you?"  
  
She nodded, her eyes blank, her will stifled by his commands. She was a strong-willed woman, but she was no match for him. He released the spell abruptly, feeling nauseas, and Mrs Granger put her hands to her face. She said nothing for a while, clearly shocked by what she had experienced.  
  
She regained her composure remarkably quickly. "And you can keep her out of Malfoy's hands, is that it?"  
  
He smiled that shark-like grin again, and said, "Lucius Malfoy and I are old friends."  
  
Mrs Granger digested the implications of that in silence. In that respect at least, he hoped that Hermione would become more like her mother as time went on. She sat staring out into the garden for a long time, saying nothing, until she reached her decision. "Very well, we'll give our consent to the marriage, but answer me one thing: what will you do if the law isn't repealed?"  
  
He had no answer to that, because he'd tried very hard not to think about it. Perhaps it was time he started.  
  
Hermione was sitting alone in the lounge when her mother returned. Her father had beaten a retreat to the kitchen to make another cup of tea. She was mildly concerned that Severus wasn't with her mum; hopefully they hadn't argued.  
  
"I'm not happy about this," her mother said, "but I know how much magic means to you. I've already told Severus that we'll give you our consent, but the question you have to ask yourself Hermione is whether you can stand being married to that man for the rest of your life, because you may not be able to get the law overturned. And, even if you can, is it right to ask him to give up his future for you."  
  
And with that her mother left her to think.  
  
Hermione felt a gnawing terror in the pit of her stomach at the thought of being stuck with this bloody situation for the rest of her life. For two pins she would have given up there and then, not returned to Hogwarts, and refused to marry.  
  
But then, as her head cleared, her natural common sense returned. Could she spend ten years married to Snape? Well, probably, but the more she thought about it, the more likely it was that she thought that there would be time to think of another solution. She could meet someone, fall in love, and decide to marry them; Severus could do the same. A thousand and one things could happen in the next ten years, which, as far as she could see put them in the same category as any other married couple starting out.  
  
But she did need to talk this over with Severus. Her mother was right about one thing, she hadn't considered his feelings or his future at all when she proposed, and it was about time someone did.  
  
He was sitting in the conservatory, with yet another nice cup of tea, gazing out at the garden with faint bewilderment. He'd never seen a suburban garden before: all neat lawn and edges, and formal borders.  
  
She sat next to him, and, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the lawn, said, "Severus, do you know why I asked you to marry you?" It seemed easier to have the conversation when she wasn't looking at him.  
  
"Being free of Ministry influence?" he offered. It was certainly what she'd said.  
  
"That," she agreed, "but something else as well, something more important. It's about you being Slytherin, I suppose. I couldn't think of anyone less likely to do something for me because you didn't want to hurt my feelings. You don't do Gryffindor self-sacrifice; if you didn't want to do it, you wouldn't."  
  
He snorted at that.  
  
"And I want you to promise me that will always be the case."  
  
He turned his head toward her, weighing her words carefully. "Your mother hasn't persuaded you to let me off the hook, has she?" Hermione could be mistaken, but there seemed to be an undertone of bitterness to the question.  
  
"Not really. She didn't think I was being fair to you; I think she might be right. I've been thinking of this as a stop-gap, but what if things don't change?"  
  
She'd seen that expression before, usually when Dumbledore was spouting a platitude and he was waiting for the sting in the tail. She took a deep breath. "What happens if you meet the witch of your dreams? What happens if you don't? I mean, did you want to have children?"  
  
"I hardly think that the witch of my dreams, as you so romantically put it, will turn up now."  
  
"Don't be silly, of course she could." Severus looked surprised, probably at being called silly. "You've spent the last twenty years of your life involved in spying, you've hardly been in a position to get a girlfriend. The war's over now; it could happen. What then?"  
  
He turned that over; it was possible, he supposed. Unlikely, but possible, and it was typical Hermione to want to provide for remote possibilities.  
  
"I don't know," he replied. "What I can promise is it won't consist of me suffering in silence. If I develop tender feelings for someone else, I will inform you and we'll try and find another solution." Severus sounded amused. "After all, I hardly supposed you were anticipating that either of us would be faithful to each other."  
  
"No," Hermione said thoughtfully, "or rather, I hadn't given it much thought. Romance hasn't been a large part of my life recently, but you're right, fidelity would be stupid."  
  
"Though I'd be grateful if you ... restrained ...yourself until you left school. I don't think my dignity would stand for Mrs Snape to be sleeping with a fellow student."  
  
"Fair enough, provided you agree to the same. Mrs Snape wouldn't like to hear that her husband has been playing around either. I think, if either of us is about to embark on the perilous seas of romance, it would be polite if they were to inform the other, before nasty gossip did it for them."  
  
Severus nodded. That seemed sensible.  
  
"What about children?"  
  
He thought about it. Would he like to have children? He was surprised to find that there was a faint, sentimental hope in some dark recess of his heart that would like a child. Someone bright, and enquiring; he could watch his first steps - or hers, he didn't mind – and help them avoid all the mistakes he made. "I think I would," he said, aware he sounded wistful, and vaguely resenting her for making him aware of this.  
  
"Right. Well, I think I might like children myself. Eventually."  
  
"I won't raise another man's bastard," he said coldly.  
  
"I wouldn't ask you to," she replied calmly. "I'm saying that if we were both agreeable, we might consider the possibility of having children together at some later date." Preferably using whatever the magical equivalent of a turkey baster would be, she thought, or a fertility potion so they wouldn't have to have sex more than once.  
  
He was floored. He felt a tendril of something warm settle in his stomach. Hermione had already suggested there could be a friendship between them; she had spoken up on his behalf, and he couldn't remember a time when anyone had ever done that without expecting something in return; and now she was saying that there could be a some sort of cooperation between them, at least on the parenting side of things.  
  
Most of his parents' generation had arranged marriages, and not all of them had been disastrous. After all, after ten years of marriage, theirs would be like any love match: a couple of kids and no sex. It was a lot less than she would have expected from life, and a lot more than he had expected. Somewhere in the middle ground there might be possibilities. It wouldn't be a perfect future, but there could be small happinesses along the way.  
  
He pulled himself together; it was foolish to think along these lines.  
  
"I don't see why we're discussing this; it's more likely that the law will be repealed before that happens." He could have cursed himself for giving away just how much he might like a family, a nice, normal life like the one everyone else seemed to manage so easily.  
  
"You may be right," she said lightly, turning the conversation away from areas he clearly didn't want to talk about, and she didn't want to know about. "If you are, we'll have the biggest divorce party ever, and we'll invite all the prettiest witches and we'll pick one out for you. I'm not handing you over to just anyone."  
  
The idea was ridiculous. Mind you, bearing in mind her methodical approach, it was just possible she would find a way to make it happen. There would be a long list of potential girlfriends he supposed, ranked according to appearance, intellect, and availability, and she would work her way through them until she had a shortlist for the party.  
  
"Perhaps a nice blonde?" he mused.  
  
Hermione gave a sharp crack of laughter. "Oh yes, a blonde with large breasts. Boys, you're all the same."  
  
Severus didn't deny it.  
  
A/N The poem that Severus is reading is by Vachel Lindsay – The Leaden Eyed  
  
Let not young souls be smothered out before They do quaint deeds and fully flaunt their pride. It is the world's one crime that its babes grow dull, Its poor are ox-like, limp and leaden-eyed.  
  
Not that they starve, but starve so dreamlessly, Not that they sow, but that they so seldom reap, Not that they serve, but have no gods to serve, Not that they die, but that they die like sheep 


	8. Meeting the Lawyer

The boys were waiting for her when she got back, eager to know how things had gone, and Ron especially wanted to know what her parents had made of Snape.  
  
All she said about that was that the visit to her parents had gone well. She felt uneasy talking about Snape with the boys; it seemed to her that at the least she owed him the courtesy of keeping their private lives private.  
  
She didn't think the boys would understand, and she didn't need to deal with the two of them whining about her keeping secrets from them when she had so much else on her plate, so she launched into a description of their appointment with the Snape family Lawyer.  
  
The trip to the Lawyer hadn't begun well – for the lawyer.  
  
He made the mistake of addressing his remarks solely to Professor Snape, and didn't even look at Hermione, who he constantly referred to as "The Spouse". She allowed him to get away with that for around half an hour, whilst she absorbed the terms of "The Marriage Settlement", and then things took a decided turn for the worse.  
  
"As I understand it," Hermione's arctic tone had cut across the scratchy voice of Mr Murbles, "that provides me absolutely no protection at all. The purpose of this Settlement is to preserve my assets from my husband and not the other way around."  
  
Mr Murbles had politely ignored the interruption from The Spouse, and had continued explaining the provisions that applied in the event of A Child or even Children. The boys smirked at that – ignoring Hermione wasn't sensible at the best of times.  
  
"Nor is that acceptable; the provisions discriminate between boys and girls. I'm not standing for that," she'd continued.  
  
Mr Murbles had exchanged a glance of sympathy with Professor Snape before turning to address The Spouse. "Madam, it really isn't necessary for you to take an interest in the proceedings at this point. No doubt your father will explain it all to you at a later date, when you have more leisure to understand the intricacies of the Settlement. After all, his will be the final say on the matter."  
  
"I doubt it," she'd said. "These are magical contracts aren't they? He's a muggle and can't enter into one."  
  
The boys were grinning by this stage of her recitation, and were eagerly awaiting the description of the Lawyer getting his comeuppance. "I never realised before that the expression 'could hear a pin drop' could be so literal. The silence was absolute, before it was broken by Mr Murbles taking a large gulp of water." They knew the punchline to this joke; both of them were wondering whether she'd hit him or simply hexed him.  
  
"He clearly didn't believe me at first," she continued. "I don't know whether that was because women are clearly unreliable or whether the House of Snape was so venerable it's never previously been polluted by a Mudblood, but he didn't believe me until Professor Snape confirmed it."  
  
"Miss Granger is indeed a Muggleborn," he'd said, very carefully stressing the word; not Mudblood, he meant, and she'd been grateful for his support. "She is also quite correct that the purpose of the Settlements is her protection, and I would be grateful if you would address your explanations to her." Professor Snape's tone had been polite – nothing as brusque as would use in Potions classes, or even to the Headmaster – it was nonetheless pretty clear he expected to be obeyed.  
  
Hermione had been pleased to see that he was.  
  
Mr Murbles had taken another sip of water to compose himself and then continued. "I find myself at a loss to understand why you are here considering Marriage Contracts. If this marriage is as a result of the new laws....."  
  
"It is as a result of the new laws," she'd said, determined to make the lawyer acknowledge her existence, "but not under them."  
  
"So what did he say to that?" asked Harry. "Did he work out what you were up to?"  
  
"Oh yes," nodded Hermione. "It was amazing. His attitude completely changed. He stared at me and then muttered something about 'Not under them, indeed.' He made this funny huffing noise, you know, like Neville does when he's concentrating on his homework, he snapped his fingers to summon a book, and started reading."  
  
His finger had travelled down the book as he unravelled the intricacies of the legislation, then he raised his head to say, "Well, congratulations are in order indeed. A very clever piece of work."  
  
For once, Mr Murbles had looked Hermione in the eye. "A very clever piece of work indeed."  
  
Hermione couldn't help but think of Trevor as the lawyer's cold, bulbous eyes had inspected her, though Trevor had never had that particular supercilious smile. Finally, she did seem to have marginally impressed him.  
  
"Indeed. I presume that there is some reason that you find the new laws objectionable. Other," he had continued before Hermione could interrupt, "than the fact that your culture prefers marriage for love. Something else then... There are rumours..." Some understanding had passed between Murbles and Professor Snape, because the man had turned pale. "No. They dare..."  
  
Hermione had snorted. "Why would they not? They dare take away the rights of Muggleborns, why should they stop at anything else?"  
  
Both men had looked at her with condescension and varying degrees of amusement. Mr Murbles had steepled his fingers, and given her the same supercilious smile. "My dear Miss Granger, the power of the Ministry is founded on doing what the important Pureblood families want. To go against them in this way is unprecedented."  
  
"You mean that they don't want this law?" she'd asked blankly. "I rather thought the advantages of being able to control the Mudblood element would more than outweigh the little difficulty of having a halfbreed swinging from the family tree."  
  
"Apparently not," was all the lawyer had said, as he busied himself shuffling papers. He'd obviously said more than he was comfortable with, but it was enough to give Hermione ideas. He'd stilled, and she had been regarded with pursed lips and a slight frown. "Very well then, if I may suggest... It seems to me that what you actually need is some way to protect your assets from the depradations of the Ministry. They are unlikely to take this news with any degree of enthusiasm, and may well seek to impose a large fine, or simply confiscate your assets."  
  
Hermione and Severus had exchanged glances. "I don't really have any assets," she'd said quietly. "I don't know about you."  
  
Severus had looked flustered for a moment. "I have a cottage and my Hogwarts salary and very little else."  
  
Mr Murbles had made little hmmm hmmm noises, and began searching through his books again. "Aha. A very knotty problem, but I believe I may have the solution. Put your assets in the Muggle world and the Ministry won't be able to touch them."  
  
"Is that it?" asked Ron incredulously, when Hermione paused for breath. "That's all you have to do: put your money in the Muggle world?"  
  
Hermione nodded. "Though it's not that easy when you think about it. I mean, most Purebloods wouldn't know how to go about it, not really. I suspect that's why it works in a way – none of the Purebloods at the Ministry can get their heads round pounds and pence, and how to open a bank account, and I shouldn't think most of them have a friendly Muggle that they could ask."  
  
Ron snorted. "It can't be that difficult."  
  
"Yeah, but think about it. Your Dad can't even cope with electricity and plugs," Harry said thoughtfully.  
  
Ron looked unconvinced. "I still think it's too simple. It might do in the short term, but the Ministry are going to get worse as time goes one, particularly if Hermione goes up against them. She needs something more."  
  
"I agree," Hermione said. "And what's more I asked the lawyer about it. He seems to be the family solicitor for all the Pureblood families, and you aren't telling me that they don't have secret vaults and money stashed away where the Ministry can't get it. And anyway, if he's right about the, not wanting this law, I thought it might be a good idea to drop a hint of what I intend to do, so it might make it's way back to the right quarters."  
  
"That was a bit of a risk," Harry said.  
  
"I know. But the one thing my plans need is money. Money to pay for advertising, money to pay for lawyers fees, money to bail out other women, and money to hide them away. One of the reasons I didn't run away was because I couldn't think what I'd live on, how I'd be able to eat. And, whilst I was sitting in that poky office it struck me, who has lots of money and might be prepared to pay to get out of their commitments?"  
  
The boys considered it for a moment. "That might work," said Ron, running through the Pureblood families in his mind. "They are all twisty bastards, who are used to paying to get out of things that they don't like doing. Instead of paying some Ministry official, they'll be paying you. I like it."  
  
"You were taking a bit of a risk mentioning it to Murbles though," Harry added. "He might mention it to the wrong people. If the Ministry find out what you're up to...."  
  
"Well, it seemed to me I didn't have much of a choice; it's not like they'd be prepared to meet me face to face so I can explain what I have in mind. Anyway, it's not like I came out into the open and said it. I tried to be subtle, and dropped hints, though he understood what I was suggesting almost straight away."  
  
"Mr Murbles, if I wanted to keep financial dealings secret from the Ministry, would it be possible to do so?" she had asked.  
  
He'd smiled faintly. "I am not accustomed to being asked that question with quite such frankness, but it would certainly be possible to create such a labyrinthine structure to hold your assets that no one would be able to penetrate it. You will forgive me though; I fail to see why you think that your assets require such protection. Neither of you are rich." There had been a faint note of distaste at having to mention something as vulgar as money to such fine upstanding people, well one fine upstanding person and his fiancée.  
  
"Indeed. However, it is my intention on leaving school to campaign to have this stupid law overturned. It also occurs to me that funds will be necessary to support any witches who choose to make a run for it rather than submit to this indignity. It may be that certain families, who can see that this would be for their mutual benefit, may also wish to make donations." Hermione had hoped that this was sufficiently vague to convey her meaning: if the Pureblood family paid enough, the Witch would make a run for it, and both sides would be happy.  
  
It was ingenious. Mr Murbles had obviously thought so; she had been rewarded with a faint smirk and a small nod of acknowledgement. "Under the circumstances, these provisions will no longer be suitable." He tapped his wand on the documents before him and they rolled themselves up, floated over to the fire and incinerated themselves. "It may take me some time to prepare replacements, but I will contact you when they are ready. In the meantime, might I suggest that Miss Granger takes the necessary steps to transfer her assets into a Muggle bank account, and that you, Professor, give some thought as to who you might entrust with the deeds to the cottage."  
  
"My parents," she'd suggested. "Unless you think that's too close to home?"  
  
"I think that would be ideal, Miss Granger. If you are agreeable, I can prepare the necessary conveyance and send it to you at Hogwarts." Mr Murbles had smiled faintly, and then ushered them to the door.  
  
Professor Snape had assented with a curt nod, and then they had been freed from the stuffy confines of the man's office and had apparated back to Hogwarts where they gone their separate ways with barely another word.  
  
"So," she concluded. "All in all I think it went quite well."  
  
"Yep, I think that was a good days work," Ron said. "You've laid the foundations for your revolution quite nicely."  
  
"I thought so. Professor Snape gave me ever such a funny look when we got back to Hogwarts. He looked a bit worried actually."  
  
Ron smiled broadly. "Well you have managed to stitch him up, you know."  
  
"Sorry," Hermione said blankly.  
  
"Well, you managed to get your hands on his cottage and his money. It does mean he has to be nice to you – or else."  
  
The boys found this intensely humorous; Hermione did not. For all her talk about this not really affecting Professor Snape's life, he did seem to be being dragged in ever deeper.  
  
And what if he changed his mind?  
  
As the days ticked down towards the wedding she half expected to receive a curt note from Snape saying that the engagement was off. The day the Owl arrived from the lawyer – she'd never seen him receive post from anyone, so she assumed it was the lawyer – had been spent on tenterhooks.  
  
The day before her wedding she received a note from him. She recognised his spiky writing from the snotty comments scrawled across her homework, and spent nearly ten minutes worrying about what he was writing to her about.  
  
In the end, Harry had pulled the note from her hands and opened it for her. "It's alright. He just wants to see you tonight, to make arrangements for tomorrow."  
  
She'd felt sick with relief, and then there was a moment when the Universe rearranged itself around her in the way it did when she suddenly saw the answer to a problem, or finally understood a really abstruse technical point; she was actually looking forward to marrying Snape.  
  
Well, not looking forward, that was going too far, but it was true that she had come to rely on him. She trusted him to be on her side in almost the same way as the boys. They weren't friends, but maybe they were allies.  
  
It was a very odd idea even for someone who had spent most of her time at Hogwarts trying to persuade the boys that Snape wasn't all bad.  
  
It didn't seem that her newfound appreciation of Severus made it any easier to talk to him, or his disposition any more pleasant. It couldn't be denied that he was irritable and touchy.  
  
They'd been discussing arrangements, where and when to meet that sort of thing, when he took exception to the way she was looking at him.  
  
For heaven's sake, Miss Granger," he'd snarled. "I fail to see why you are suddenly obsessed with my features. They are surely familiar enough to you after six years of schooling."  
  
She hadn't been aware that she'd been staring. She flushed bright red, and was on the point of dropping her eyes when she realised that in those six years she probably never had looked at him. The only time they'd ever been in close proximity was the classroom, and then you were too busy keeping your head down and hoping not to be noticed, to spend long examining Professor Snape and forming an opinion on his appearance.  
  
He wasn't a handsome man, but neither was he the ugly monster of common report. He was a normal man, with an overlarge nose, yellow teeth, and yes, the hair was greasy. He also had nice eyes when he was relaxed, rather nice hands, and it was undeniable that there was a certain something about the way he moved and spoke.  
  
He wasn't entirely unattractive.  
  
Severus was surprised when she continued looking at him, and was beginning to feel extremely uneasy. "What is the matter with you, Miss Granger?"  
  
"I'm sorry. It's just a bit strange you know," she said softly. "Tomorrow we're getting married, and I barely know you."  
  
He sighed. "It's not too late to change your mind."  
  
She shook her head. "I don't want change my mind. In fact, I've spent all this week worrying that you might change yours."  
  
"Why would you think that? I gave you my word." Severus sounded huffy but curious.  
  
"I think it was just wedding nerves. Brides are supposed to get them you know. That, and realising quite what a task I'd taken on."  
  
Severus opened his mouth, all indignation, then subsided. "You don't mean me, do you?"  
  
Hermione smiled. "No, I'm quite happy about marrying you, sort of. It's just, what if I don't get the law overturned?"  
  
"Hermione, in the course of two weeks you have successfully evaded Lucius Malfoy, double-crossed Dumbledore, lured me into marriage, and bullied a respected member of the legal profession into opening negotiations with the Pureblood families on your behalf. What on earth makes you think you won't be able to do this?"  
  
Hermione's smile broadened. "Well, I still haven't managed to get the boys to do their homework any earlier than the night before."  
  
Severus smirked. "Well you ought to count that as an achievement. I'm sure that without you, they wouldn't even be doing that. Potter wouldn't have passed his Potions Owl without your help."  
  
Hermione's smile faded a little. "Severus," she said, her voice trembling a little, "I know I shouldn't ask, but you will help me won't you?" She unconsciously put her hand on his sleeve in a gesture of appeal. "I know I said that being married wouldn't make any difference to your life, and I meant it, so I'll understand if you say no."  
  
Severus patted the hand that was resting on his arm. "I always thought that was a rather naïve view, really. You and your friends have been nothing but trouble since you started at Hogwarts, and I see no reason why you would be less troublesome just because we were married."  
  
Hermione hoped he was joking, at least a little; it was hard to tell though. She decided to let the matter drop for now. They had rather more pressing matters to deal with.  
  
"Right, well I thought we could Floo to my parents tomorrow morning. We'd get changed into Muggle clothes there, and then they'll drive us to the Register Office. Mum will take Harry and Ron in her car; Dad will take us.  
  
"Then, after the ceremony, we turn round and come back to my parents' house. I think they'd like us to stay for dinner, if possible."  
  
Severus shrugged. "I don't see why not."  
  
"Thank you. I'm aware that it must be your idea of hell to be trapped in a Muggle house with Harry and Ron."  
  
Severus didn't deny it; he couldn't. It was a fairly accurate summation of how he felt. His only consolation was that it could be a lot worse. It was a thought he would hang on to, to see him through the coming days.  
  
After all, it could have been the Parkinsons. 


	9. In which there is a wedding

He kept reminding himself that it could be worse as he prepared for his execution. Although he wasn't to be married in his robes, he still took extra care in dressing that morning. To do less would be discourteous to his betrothed and her family; the family that would soon hold the title deeds to his cottage.

He was sipping on his morning tea, pretending that he didn't have butterflies in his stomach, when a knock at the door and made his nerves spike.

He was almost relieved to see it was Minerva.

"Poor Severus," she said. "You do look worried. Expecting someone else?"

He narrowed his eyes at her and glared.

She ignored him. "I thought it might be better if the little marriage party used my floo to travel to the Grangers. You can meet us there."

"Very true. We wouldn't want the students to get any ideas would we? You might find yourself being besieged with admirers. You never know your luck, you might get a couple of offers yourself."

Minerva glared at him. "Oh very funny."

"I thought so." In fact, as far as Severus was concerned it was the only enjoyable moment he was likely to have that day. Bugger. Why on earth had he allowed himself to be talked into this?

"Has the condemned man eaten a hearty breakfast then?"

Severus grimaced. He had in fact eaten a substantial breakfast, rather than his usual simple cup of coffee, and it was sitting heavily in his stomach. Not that he was nervous, no.

Minerva took pity on him. "Look on the bright side, Severus. At least it isn't a full-blown wedding with hundreds of guests and lots of speeches. It's just fifteen minutes in this Reggie Office and lunch with the Grangers. Then you need never talk to any of them ever again. Come on. I'll see you there in about ten minutes, and try not to scowl. You'll put Miss Granger off, you know."

"If only it were that easy," he sighed after she had left.

He surveyed his quarters. It was only a matter of time before Hermione would be forced to move in here – the Ministry would insist on it, he was sure – and he would lose his precious privacy. She would be noisy; he knew it. And probably want to talk first thing in the morning. And hog the bathroom. And that was before you even considered the fact that this afternoon would see him handing over his cottage to his father-in-law for safe keeping.

Oh bugger. Bugger. Bugger.

Miss Granger was suffering from nerves too it appeared. She was white-faced, almost green even, and was casting fulminating looks at the boys who were being their usual boisterous selves.

"Now, now Miss Granger. Why do you look so green and pale on what you did so freely?" he said softly, so the others couldn't hear.

He was rewarded by a faint smile. One of few positive things he could find about this whole damned mess was that Hermione was at least sufficiently well read to pick up on most of his references, and there were encouraging signs of a sense of humour which was surprising in a Gryffindor. Minerva certainly didn't seem to appreciate his gallows humour; perhaps you needed to have been on the gallows – and it couldn't be denied that this was had more in common with an execution than a wedding - to appreciate it.

"Right, you two," Hermione said crisply. "Stop buggering around, and let's get on with this. The sooner it's done with, the sooner we can have dinner."

Ron's eyes lit up. "Oooh, will your mum be making roast potatoes? They're my favourite."

Harry nudged him – hard – in the ribs. "For heaven's sake, Ron, stop thinking about your stomach all the time. This is serious."

Hermione smiled at Ron. "Don't worry. I'm sure mum has made plenty of roast potatoes. She knows how much you like them." Ron nudged Harry back, and muttered something about 'so there'. Severus felt a flash of irritation. They were supposed to be there to offer Hermione support, and they were still behaving like teenagers. He decided not to think too hard on the fact that they still were teenagers, and he was marrying someone young enough to be his daughter.

He offered her his arm – he had manners, even if no one else did – and said, "Shall we?" If her grip was a little tighter than was strictly acceptable, he let it pass.

The two boys went first. A flash of powder, the firm announcement of "The Granger household", and they were gone.

Minerva moved forward as if to hug Hermione, but contented herself with patting her on the shoulder. "Good luck, dear."

Hermione bit her lip, and Severus wondered quite what it was that she was so determined not to say, and who it would have been directed at.

"Come along Miss Granger. We wouldn't want to be late on your important day." There was no doubt who that glare was directed at, or what she would have liked to say, but her determination not to let him get away kept her silent. At least for now. He had a nasty feeling that things would change once his ring was on her finger.

He didn't think he would ever get used to Muggles. Mr and Mrs Granger looked very surprised at their arrival, despite the fact that they were expected and that the boys had arrived in the same manner only a few minutes before.

"Oh, Hermione," her mother said, wrapping her arms round her daughter in the way that Professor McGonagall had obviously wanted to.

"Mum," came a stifled voice from the region of her mother's shoulder. "I can't breathe."

"Sorry dear." Mrs Granger released her daughter with obvious reluctance. Severus wasn't surprised to find that both Grangers were giving him a rather frostier reception than last time. They had obviously had time to think about things, and realise just how unhappy they were about the situation.

He wasn't exactly bleeding ecstatic himself.

"We've got an hour or so before we have to leave," Mrs Granger said. "Time to get changed, and have a cup of tea. We've hired you a suit, Severus, on the measurements you gave us. I only hope it fits."

Harry and Ron were obviously amused at the thought of Snape in Muggle clothes, but sensibly allowed Mrs Granger to shepherd them into the lounge and settle them in front of the TV, leaving Harry busily showing Ron the arcane arts of the remote control.

"I've laid out your clothes in our bedroom, Severus. Robert will show you the way, and if you need any help....."

Severus nodded and followed Robert up the stairs and into a large, airy room which had altogether too many roses in it for his liking: roses on the curtains, roses on the bedspread, and roses in a large vase on the dressing table. Mrs Granger was obviously a closet romantic. Actually, she was out of the closet; she was an unashamed romantic.

He hoped that Mr Granger had his own room somewhere else, to save him from being assaulted by this hideous pinkness. He doubted it though.

Severus had heard that married Muggles tended to sleep together in the same room, which had always struck him as odd. His parents may have been relatively poor, but even they had managed to stick to the Pureblood habit of separate bedrooms. Anything else seemed unpleasant. If you slept in the same room, you'd be breathing in your wife's stale air. It was revolting, actually, and he didn't know how they bore it.

He eyed the suit with a jaundiced eye. His own clothes were handmade, to his exact measurements; these were shop-bought, and not even bought at that, but hired. He shuddered at the thought of placing his own genitalia in a pair of trousers that had been close to the genitalia of hundreds of others – muggles at that – some of whom may have been in a state of less than perfect cleanliness.

He took out his wand and cast a cleaning charm on the clothes. He felt marginally better for that.

Mr Granger – Robert – was still in the room. There was no way he was getting changed in front of an audience. Robert wasn't taking the hint though, and was giving him a very thorough assessment.

Ah, so it was to be the standard if-you-hurt-my-daughter-I'll-hurt-you talk, so beloved of fathers everywhere, or so he'd been told. Even Lucius had been given that talk by his prospective father-in-law, despite the fact that Lucius could have sliced him into little pieces with the greatest of ease. Lucius had respected the traditions, if not the man, and not laughed in his face. Severus prepared himself to do the same.

Robert's inspection had obviously concluded, when he asked, "Why are you doing this?" There was no hostility in his tone, merely curiosity.

"I'm buggered if I know," said Severus frankly. He wasn't about to enter into a prolonged discussion of his motives with anyone, no matter how good they were. Especially because they were good intentions, because the whole subject made him incredibly uneasy. He was a heartless bastard, and happy to be so.

Robert looked amused. "You mean Hermione talked you into it?"

Severus sighed. "Well, it made a lot of sense at the time."

"I'm sure it did; it often does. You'll have to watch that in future."

Severus sighed again. There was no doubt about that.

"I'll leave you to get dressed then. I'll be downstairs when you've finished, and then we can see about that drink. Not tea, though; something a little stronger, eh?"

Severus nodded. A stiff drink could make the whole process a little less stressful.

The muggle suit was horrid to the touch, all cheap and rough. It was even nastier to look at. The fit wasn't that bad, he supposed. At least there wasn't a massive expanse of sock and ankle, which he'd secretly been fearing; it was always difficult to find clothes for someone of his height.

The overall effect was bland and ordinary. He felt lost without three feet of billowing robes trailing behind him. He hated it, and he hated the fact that Harry and Ron would see him like this even more.

He really should have thought about this more and tried to bargain with Hermione for some sort of payment for his agreement to marry her. Such as making the boys behave for the rest of the year, or maybe a reduction in the length of her homework, so that she actually wrote the length called for, rather than an extra twenty feet because she was interested in the subject.

He thought that that would irritate her almost as much as these clothes were irritating her.

Too late now.

He sighed again and headed in search of Mr Granger and inferior Muggle alcohol.

Hermione hadn't really thought what she would wear to get married. She wasn't exactly bothered. Anything further than the happiest day of her life would be hard to find. Still, as her mother pointed out, she had to make it look good for the Registrar, otherwise they could find themselves being booted out of the place unwed.

There were moments when she thought that wouldn't be a bad idea; then she could legitimately run away to France, or Australia, or anywhere that they didn't have these stupid laws.

Her mother had selected a nice suit for her. Not white, thank god; that would have reduced her to hysterical giggles. It was a pleasant enough shade of cream, verging onto yellow, but without making her look like an overgrown daffodil. The skirt was long, the jacket nipped in at the waist, and it made her look older. The impression of a young woman, rather than schoolgirl, was completed when her hair was arranged in a smooth French pleat, with the odd tendril framing her face.

She was quite pleased with the effect, and wondered what the boys would think of it.

Not a lot, was the short answer. They were much too interested in the telly. Ron was entranced by the chance to see a program about football, so he could see what this West Ham business was all about.

"Hermione," Ron said excitedly. "Look at this. Muggles are playing something that looks a bit like Quidditch, but on the ground. Isn't it funny?"

There was a moment while the silence congealed to the consistency that could be cut with a knife. Even Harry, who was hardly the most tactful person on the planet, could sense that Ron had put his foot in it.

"Erm, you look nice," Harry said, clearly trying to change the subject. His heart wasn't in it though, and Hermione felt a little of her confidence drain away.

"Well at least you look old enough to get married now," Severus said, from the doorway. He was clutching a glass of what looked like her father's best whiskey.

"Dutch courage?" she asked, taking the glass from his hand, and draining it in one gulp.

Severus smirked. "I need it, to go out dressed like this."

"You do look awful," she said. "Normally you're so swishy, and now, nothing. You look like a peeled turtle; I'm not marrying a man who looks like a peeled turtle."

"I suppose it's too much to hope that this means you're going to let me off the hook?" he asked sourly. He knew he looked odd, there was no need to rub salt into the wound.

She grinned up at him, unrepentant. "Bloody right. We'll just have to think of something to give you your swish back."

"Swish?" asked Mrs Granger, with only the slightest quaver of a laugh.

"Well he wears these long robes at school," replied Ron, determined to won the award for Most Tactless Remark Ever. "And he stalks around in them, and they swish behind him. I think that's what she's talking about."

Everyone in the room looked at Professor Snape and pondered the issue of Swish, and where to get it.

"There's always Dad's long winter coat," said Hermione. "We could make it a bit longer. That might help."

The winter coat was fetched from the cupboard under the stairs. It was black, which was good. It was long, which was good. It didn't fit properly, but that was easily overcome with a few flicks of Hermione's wand.

Severus took a few experimental steps. The coat wasn't as good as robes, but, with a discreetly applied Billowing Charm, there was just a hint of swishiness. It did make him feel better, and a little less like a peeled turtle – and that wasn't a description he was going to raise with Minerva if he could help it. He made a mental note to have a quiet chat with the boys about the matter, and pondered which threats were likely to be more effective.

The sound of a horn outside heralded the arrival of the taxi.

"Right. So we're ready then?" asked Mrs Granger in bright, determined tones reminiscent of Hermione bullying the boys into doing their homework. "I've got all the paperwork here. All we need is a bride, a groom, and a wedding ring."

Ah.

"Erm," said Severus. "On the matter of the wedding ring?"

He swore that Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "You didn't bring one, did you?"

"It wasn't on my list of Things To Do," he snapped. How was he supposed to know that he'd been expected to bring a ring, if no one told him? He was hardly experienced at getting married, and who knew what Muggles got up to? He was braced for Hermione to express her disapproval, and preparing to speak his mind at length in reply, but the expected strop didn't materialise.

"Bugger," said Hermione, quite reasonably. "So it didn't. Sorry. It just slipped my mind."

"I suppose there's my mother's wedding ring," offered Mrs Granger. "But...."

Hermine shook her head. She didn't want to use the nearest thing they had to a family heirloom on this farce.

"Or a curtain ring," Harry said. "One of those nice brass ones over there would do." He pointed at the lounge curtains – Roses again, Severus noted. It appeared to be something of a theme with the Grangers.

It took a couple of minutes to free a ring, and then another couple of minutes to shrink it to fit Hermione's finger and then change its colour to gold. "Hang on," said Hermione. "If I wear the sapphire ring you gave me for my sixteenth on this finger, it looks like an engagement ring. That's better."

Mr Granger headed into the kitchen to check the back door was locked. "All set?"

"Just a minute," Severus said. A little embarrassed at the gesture, but feeling it was called for nonetheless, he conjured a small posy of cream roses for Hermione. He supposed she'd like roses just as much as her mother.

She blinked a little, before saying, "Thank you. That's very kind."

He offered her an arm to escort her to the car. These little courtesies were becoming easier. He supposed that after twenty years of marriage they would become automatic. He winced. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. He'd kill Fudge himself before he let it drag on that much. It would be a public service, after all, not merely selfish self-preservation.

He hated the car on sight, and nothing about the journey in the metal monster changed his mind. It was cramped, it was smelly – though that might be due to the presence of two teenaged boys – and it was noisy. The only positive thing he could see about it was that it was black and large.

Hermione was pressed up against him, with Harry on her other side. Ron was sat opposite, on a peculiar fold-down seat, peering out of the window in great excitement at the Muggle world. Hermione's parents were following in their own car.

He couldn't help flinching every time the car changed gear, went round corners, pulled away from traffic lights, or stopped suddenly. Hermione was clutching a piece of paper, which she was trying to read in between sudden lurches to the left or right.

"What's that?" he asked, in an effort to distract himself from his impending death.

"It's a little brochure that my parents found on what's involved in the ceremony.."

"You really do like to plan ahead, don't you?"

"Yes," she said simply. "I don't like making mistakes. Its important that nothing goes wrong today."

"And do you plan to let your bridegroom in on the proposed order of events?"

She handed him the list. "As far as I can tell, all we really have to do is say yes at the appropriate intervals. It doesn't look difficult."

"It depends what I'm saying yes to," he said darkly. "The devil is in the detail."

It didn't seem that complicated, she was right about that: a simple statement that there was no reason that they couldn't be married, and a declaration that they wanted to get married. It was nothing like the Pureblood contracts that he was used to. There were no provisions for the devolution of property on the death of either party, nothing about devolution of property on divorce, nothing about property at all. It was all very odd.

The taxi came to a sudden halt, nearly precipitating him into Hermione's lap.

"We're here," she said.

The building was quite impressive, all Victorian municipal grandeur, and lots of stairs leading to a wood-panelled room. They were five minutes early – as directed in the pamphlet – allowing Hermione time to hand over all sorts of documentation to the waiting clerk.

Her parents came bustling up soon afterwards with complaints of how difficult it had been to find parking, and then they were summoned into the room.

They stood side by side, in front of a kindly-looking middle-aged woman, who nodded to them both. "Are we ready to begin?"

Hermione surprised Severus by reaching out and grasping his hand; the woman smiled at such an obvious display of affection.

"Mr Snape. If you would repeat after me, I do solemnly declare that I know not of any lawful reason why I may not be joined in matrimony to Hermione Jane Granger."

He dutifully parroted the words, then listened in his turn as Hermione made her declaration. He didn't know of any lawful reason why they shouldn't be joined, that was true, but there was no sensible reason why they should other than the convulsive grip she had on his hand and the fact he'd agreed to this stupidity. And if nothing else he was a man of his word.

Still, he stumbled over the words where he took Hermione to be his lawful wedded wife. Hermione, it appeared had no such qualms, and firmly stated that, "I, Hermione Jane Granger, take Severus Snape to be my lawful wedded husband."

And then they were exchanging rings, and they were man and wife, and he could kiss the bride, which neither of them were keen on, but had to be done.

There was the faintest meeting of lips in a chaste salute, and then they were signing the Register and it was over bar the ten years of bloody fall out.

They emerged blinking into the sun, and Mr Granger called for a taxi on his mobile.

It was an awkward group standing in silence on the Town Hall steps. Severus had never been one for small talk, particularly not with his students, and he had no experience of the sort of chatter that was appropriate with your in-laws. Maybe it was a skill he could acquire.

Ron, tactless Ron, broke the silence, and all those present were grateful for it. "So, Mrs Granger, what are we having for dinner?"

Mrs Granger gave him an indulgent glance. "I thought roast potatoes, cauliflower cheese, and roast chicken, and apple crumble to follow."

Even Severus had to admit that that sounded wonderful.

The taxi journey back didn't seem to take so long, or be anywhere near as bumpy as the journey there, and it wasn't long before they were all seated round a large mahogany dining table, with the best linen and plates in honour of the occasion, tucking into a very fine dinner. Severus was, of course, back in his robes, though no one else had changed.

Mr Granger brought in a nice bottle of burgundy, and poured a glass for everyone, even Harry and Ron.

"I think a speech is called for," he said, looking meaningfully at Severus.

Severus stopped his dissection of the chicken. Surely he didn't mean that he should say something? It appeared he did. Severus thought for a moment; what on earth could he say that would be appropriate? Nothing about a long and happy marriage, that was for sure.

Inspiration struck. He raised his glass and said, "I give you a toast: to divorce!"

Severus was amused when Hermione was the first to raise her glass in response. "To divorce, and one hell of a divorce party!"

Severus was happy to drink to that. He was looking forward to meeting these blond witches he'd been promised. It might even make it worthwhile in the end. At least Hermione, of all the people who had asked him for favours over the years, had thought that there should be something in it for him.

It was a pity it was too late to mention the homework. Still, he thought, she was bound to want another favour at some point, and he could drop it into the conversation then. All was not lost.

There were worse things in life than being married to Hermione Granger; at least this way he might get a decent lunch from time to time, and the burgundy wasn't bad either.

All in all, it was a mildly contented Severus who tucked into his dinner with gusto.

He had a nagging feeling that it was all bound to go horribly wrong at some point, but for now, well, there was apple crumble with custard.

A/N: Someone left a review querying whether Mr and Mrs Granger were allowed to be witnesses. As far as I can tell, they would appear to be, based on the information available at my local Register Office, where they suggest that parents both could and should be witnesses.

And Harry and Ron could be witnesses as well, as the age limit for that is apparently 16.

I have of course completely ignored the time required to fill in the paperwork – let's just assume Mr and Mrs Granger had a word with Professor Snape and he borrowed a Timeturner and it was all posted on time after all.


	10. In which there is a wedding night

And that was that.

Technically she was Mrs Snape now, although she didn't feel like Mrs Snape and he definitely didn't feel like Mr Snape. Which was really rather the point.

The boys had been outraged when, in the first potions class after their wedding day, he'd deducted 50 points from Gryffindor; the bulk of them from her. She'd just shrugged; she'd expected it. "He's just showing us all that he's as big a bastard as ever," she'd explained. "He wants to be sure that no one is going to be looking for favours in class."

"But that's daft," replied Harry. "Of course we wouldn't do that."

"I know that. I suspect he knows that as well. It's just, he can't afford to take chances."

The boys had shrugged, baffled by the workings of Snape's mind, and happy to remain that way.

And it did seem that nothing had changed between them, that things were back to normal, but every once in a while Hermione would find herself looking at Snape across the Great Hall and wonder what he was thinking, and what he was feeling. Sometimes he would look up, and their eyes would meet, and there would be an instant of recognition. Some common understanding had been formed between them, and it couldn't be dissolved merely because they were no longer talking to each other.

Autumn passed into winter, and there was no communication from the Ministry. She had left to Severus the business of registering their Marriage with the Ministry. Occasionally it was convenient to hide behind their Neanderthal – they weren't even modern enough to be called Victorian – attitudes and allow The Man to deal with the nasty things.

She may be able to change spark plugs and remove her own spiders from the bathtub – even if they were the size of Aragog – but, just for once, she was going to play girly and let Severus deal with the incompetent wankers. It wasn't cowardice, she assured herself, but rather a desire not to spend the rest of her life tucked up in Azkaban. She couldn't trust herself not to hex someone.

Some of her more pleasant dreams these days revolved around subjecting Fudge to a brisk round of Crucio.

She began to hope that she was going to get away with it, a hope that was dashed over breakfast one December morning.

Another Owl came swooping into the Hall, to deliver a letter to Ron. It didn't occur to her that it had anything to do with her – well, why should it – and was watching Ron turn bright red with some amusement, until he handed the letter over to her without a word.

She thought she would hate Owls before this bloody business was over, didn't they ever bring good news?

It was a letter from Percy at his pompous best.

Dear Ronald,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, and that you are working hard at your exams. Good qualifications are essential if you are to find a job with the Ministry; I assume that you will be sensible and choose to follow my good example rather than the rather erratic path of your more irresponsible elder brothers.

You will be pleased to hear that the Minister reposes complete trust in me, and has placed me in charge of ensuring that the Marriage Act is adhered to fully by all its participants. It never fails to amaze me the number of people who think that they can get round its provisions, and the lengths that they will go to, to avoid something that is clearly for the benefit of all.

Some, it appears, have even tried to contract Muggle marriages to avoid its provisions, and I am now engaged in visiting those couple to ensure that those marriages are valid. So often, they ignore the fact that these marriages have to be consummated in order to be valid and recognised in our world. Then it is a simple matter of a court hearing, the muggle marriage is annulled, and the errant parties then have to enter into a proper Wizarding Marriage under the new law.

I find it reprehensible that so many should try to evade the law in such a way, and it is the duty of all members of the Wizarding World to try to stamp this selfish element out.

I expect to be in the vicinity of Hogwarts next week, and shall look forward to seeing you.

With regards,

Percy Weasley

Under-secretary for Marriage Law affairs.

"The bastard, the absolutely sodding bastard. How can he be involved in this… this… this filth?" Ron hissed, trying to keep his voice down so that others wouldn't hear.

"Don't be daft," said Hermione. "It's a warning, don't you see? He's saying he's going to be in Hogwarts next week – who else do we know that has had a muggle marriage round here? It's a warning that they think they've found a way round what I've done, and that they'll be here next week. If I'm not careful, it's going to be a quick trip to the Wizengamot, followed by a proper ceremony, and a kiddy on the way as soon as I leave school."

Hermione felt sick. There was only one thing to be done. Shag Snape. Shag her Potions Master. Whilst still at school. And he wasn't going to take the news well. They'd always known that a shag was on the cards at some point, but she expected that he, like her, had shoved that thought firmly to the back of his mind under the heading of 'Best Left Alone.'

Ron was looking at her in horror. "You mean you're going to have to sleep with him?"

"Yes, thank you very much, Ronald," snapped Hermione. "Thank you very much for bringing that to my attention. I would never have guessed otherwise."

"'Ere, don't have a go at me. I'm not the one who's brought in this dafty law."

"I know. I'm sorry. It's just … can you imagine how I'm going to tell Snape about this."

The three of them looked at Professor Snape and pondered.

"If I were you," said Harry, "I'd send him a note."

"Don't you think that's the cowards way?" asked Hermione.

"Oh yes," said Ron. "That doesn't stop it being a bloody good idea though."

Which seemed to Hermione to be a bloody good point. So she simply put the letter back in its envelope, addressed it to Professor Snape, and gave it to a house elf to deliver.

It was going to be a long day.

He caught up with her at lunch, after a morning of hell. Her concentration was shot, and she'd very nearly failed to Transfigure her bowl into a hedgehog. There had been the faintest hint of willow pattern about his spines.

The boys scattered before Snape's glare; they had no wish to hear about Snape and sex. She only wished she had the same luxury.

"Tonight?" he asked. There was no need to say more.

She nodded. It had to be done; there was no way out of it.

"Your rooms, or mine?" she asked softly.

"Mine," he said harshly. "It's bad enough to … with a pupil, but I'm damned if I'm doing it in the Head Girl's room."

She could see his point; there was no need to rub his nose in the fact that he was going to have sex with a pupil. She didn't think she'd be able to sleep easily in the room afterwards either. He had to feel the same way about his own room; perhaps there was another way. "Isn't there a guest room or something, for visitors?"

"Neutral territory, you mean?" he said thoughtfully. "That would be …preferable. I'll have a word with the house elves and find out."

Hermione flushed scarlet at the thought of the house elves knowing what they were about to do, her only consolation was that Severus seemed almost as flustered as her. "I'll send a note telling you the arrangements," he said abruptly, then bolted down the corridor.

The note was waiting for her after classes. There was no point going to dinner; she wouldn't be able to eat anything. She sent the boys down without her, immensely grateful that they didn't have the nerve to ask what arrangements had been made, and resigned to a long wait with nothing to do but think. For once, she wished she could turn her brain off. She spent the agonising hours till 10pm – the assigned hour – worrying about what to wear, whether she should be early or late, and wondering what on earth she would say to her husband.

In the end, she decided to be slightly early so she would have the advantage of undressing and getting into bed without an audience. There didn't seem much point in wearing anything to bed, only to have to struggle out of it, but she remembered her promise about the school uniform. She would wear muggle clothes, just in case.

She had a bath, partly to pass the time, and partly because it seemed the right thing to do on your wedding night, no matter how bizarre that wedding night. She would be clean and pleasantly scented as a courtesy, if nothing else.

Right. There might not be time to slip back to her rooms before tomorrow morning, so she would need tomorrow's clothes, some toiletries, a dressing gown, just in case, definitely her toothbrush……

That seemed to be it.

No point putting things off any longer.

She walked down the corridor feeling as if there was a large sign pasted to her back saying, "Hermione is about to have sex with Professor Snape." She tapped on the door; there was no answer.

She must be there first.

She slipped inside, and busied herself putting her things away in the wardrobe. She could do this, she told herself firmly. Lots of women, all over the world, had to do this - not everyone was fortunate enough to marry for love – and they survived. It wasn't the end of the world. After all, how long could it take? Previous experience suggested ten minutes, tops. Probably less since she had already dispensed with her underwear, and it was the undoing of the bra clasp that had occupied most of the fifteen minutes of her previous foray into the world of sex.

She undressed quickly, not wanting to be caught in the middle of the process, and got into bed.

She could do this. She could do this. She could do this. She could.

And then she was going to make the bastards pay. Oh how she was going to make the bastards pay. Crucio was too good for them. She was running through the more advanced hexes she knew, and wondering whether it was worth breaking into the Restricted Section in order to expand her knowledge, and really make the bastards pay when there came a tap at the door.

Severus didn't wait to be invited in. This was just as well; as Hermione's throat was so dry, she doubted she could have spoken. What had seemed so easy before – ten minutes of lying back, letting Snape work his will, and the resulting sticky mess – had now taken on all the magnitude of facing Lord Voldemort.

Don't exaggerate, Hermione, she thought to herself severely, more like Newts. Something unpleasant to be endured, but which would open up the whole magical world to her. Presumably this time there wouldn't be any assessment – no marking.

The thought made her smile. She noticed that Snape relaxed minutely when he saw her expression.

Abruptly she was flooded with sympathy for him. He may have had a choice about this, but he also had to feel uncomfortable at the thought of …. copulating …. with a student. He may be a volunteer, but that didn't mean that he viewed the prospect with any enthusiasm. Judging from the way he was looking at her, he clearly expected her to make a break for the door or start screaming for help at any moment.

He stood, uncertainly, by the bed. He looked smaller somehow in his shabby green dressing gown. Perhaps it was deliberate, he was a subtle man after all, an attempt to make her feel more at ease. Or perhaps, freed from the necessity of projecting an image, this was the true, private Severus.

He seemed to be waiting for some sign from her; she pulled back the covers on his side of the bed. It was disturbing to think that Severus Snape would have a 'his side of the bed' for the rest of her married life. He sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her, put his wand on the bedside table, and slipped out of his dressing gown. His back was broader than she had expected, and mercifully free of hair. A quick scramble with the covers, and then he was lying next to her, staring at the ceiling.

They lay silently, side by side, for a moment. There was nothing to say, nothing that could be said to bridge the chasm between them; but something had to be done, some gesture made, to carry them through this moment.

Somehow, Hermione knew it would be up to her to make the first move. Common belief had it that men could perform to order with anything with a pulse. She suspected that this was just the usual male bravado though, and that Severus had to be just as nervous about the whole business as her, more so, in fact. He, after all, was required to perform, whereas her role traditionally required little or no active participation.

She was damned if she was going to take the traditional role.

Marriage had been forced on her by a chauvinistic and hidebound society, and she had managed to twist those rules to suit herself; this – consummation - could not be avoided, but again she could determine the manner of it.

She reached out and took his hand. He flinched and then grasped it convulsively.

"Miss Granger," he began, and then remembered that name didn't apply any more, and was unsuitable for the marriage bed in any case. "Hermione," he tried again, "I will try to be as quick as possible."

Summoning up her courage, she turned to him. Putting her hand on his shoulder, she said, "There's no need to rush, is there?"

"Well, no, but naturally I assumed…..," he stammered.

Hermione put a finger on his mouth. "Don't," she said. "I did _choose_ you."

She hoped he would understand what she meant: that he wasn't completely repulsive to her. It seemed he did, as a fugitive smile crossed his face. "So you did."

He moved towards her, and tried to kiss her. In the ensuing scramble, they bumped noses, and Hermione giggled. Severus was nonplussed; he clearly hadn't expected to find any humour in the situation. He smiled again, more easily this time, then tried again. This time they managed to find a suitable angle. It was pleasant, no fireworks, but she hadn't expected that. She had once had a massage on holiday, and had found the sensation of hands moving across her skin to be oddly soothing. Severus's movements were having the same effect, lulling her into a drowsy acquiescence.

She felt a faint prickle of something close to alarm when his hand began to drift lower, which rapidly turned into irritation when he started fumbling between her legs. It couldn't be denied; he was clumsy and inept, whether through lack of experience or a reluctance to take liberties. At this rate, they would be there all night. Time for a helping hand of her own.

She placed her hand on his, and showed him the movements that she liked. Circular, regular, and, although it felt a little odd to have someone else perform that familiar ritual, in the end it had the usual effects. A few faint pulses of pleasure, a slight gasp, and she was done.

She nodded in response to his mute query; yes, she was ready, but she couldn't hide the flinch when he finally moved on top of her.

"Are you …. er …um," he said awkwardly.

"No," she replied, "I'm not erum."

He opened his mouth to ask something and then thought better of it.

"No," she said, guessing what he wanted to know. "Neither Harry nor Ron - no one at Hogwarts at all." And it had been a complete sodding disaster although, come to think of it, it was the perfect preparation for this night.

There was no discomfort as he moved into her; she tried very hard not to think about all the other terms for what they were doing, like possession, like taking, like having. It felt awkward looking into his eyes, too much like an invasion of his privacy, more so than anything physical they were doing - the eyes were the windows to the soul after all; but she didn't want to close her eyes or turn away, that would have been a cruel rejection. She was relieved when he closed his eyes, perhaps feeling the same as her, and started to move.

He was right; it didn't take long. He came with a few stuttering movements and a faint gasp. Hermione was torn between pushing him off her and running into the bathroom to scrub all trace of him from her, and clutching him to her in triumph: she had beaten the system and stayed in the Wizarding World on her terms. In the end, her determination to get through the night with courtesy if not affection won, and she laid a hand on his back whilst he recovered his breath.

Her touch made him jump a little, and brought him back to a sense of his surroundings. He saw her wince when he withdrew. You didn't have to use Legilimency to know that it was unlikely that she found the sensation of his come dribbling between her legs pleasant. He fumbled for his wand and cast a quick cleaning charm.

She muttered a stifled, "Thank you", and then her bravery abruptly ran out. She started to cry, silently at first and then with great gulping sobs. Instinct, the need for a warm, comforting body, made her turn towards him.

He patted her back awkwardly, as he tried to find somewhere to touch her that was merely soothing and not sexual. He was surprised when she moved closer to him, and buried her face in his neck. Looking to him for comfort was, in a sense, even more intimate than sex; it showed a level of trust that he was unused to, and found oddly touching, although he would have died rather than admit it. The sensation of her tears dripping on his shoulder was unpleasant, at least he hoped it was tears, but he subdued his desire to snap at her to get a hanky; he started stroking her hair and gradually her shaking subsided.

A muffled apology drifted up. "I'm sorry. I promised myself I wouldn't do this. It's a shabby way to repay your help."

Severus found that his opinion of Hermione had shifted again: at the beginning of term she had been an annoying irritant; when she had made her proposal he had felt a reluctant respect for her determination; and now he realised just how much physical courage it had taken to go through with this, and yet she was still showing concern for his feelings. Hermione Granger was a thoroughly decent human being.

"Your wedding night should have been an act of love," he said softly.

She gave one more, horribly wet sniff, and then mumbled into his shoulder, "It was in a way."

The hand stroking her hair stilled in surprise, he was torn between denial and a sudden thrill at the truth of that. He had done something for a fellow human being, with no thought of return for himself, that was love of a sort; he hoped no one would find out, or he would find himself drummed out of Slytherin house. He found the suggestion that he wasn't the completely heartless bastard everyone thought him to be vaguely unnerving.

He found he had nothing to say, and, indeed, no one to say it to: Hermione was fast asleep. He kissed the top of her hair lightly, shifted a little to get more comfortable, and then settled down to sleep; he would enjoy the novel sensation of a woman finding comfort in his arms for this one night.

When she woke the next morning, he'd gone. She was grateful for his understanding, though there was probably an element of self-interest in it. He had no wish to deal with a snivelling girl, and she had no wish to deal with a prickly, difficult man when all she wanted to do was sink into a bath and scrub her self clean whilst plotting revenge on Fudge.

When she arrived at breakfast the boys said nothing about the previous night. She flicked a glance up to High Table, where Severus was glaring at his coffee as if it had personally insulted him. No change there then, she thought, almost fondly.

Harry poured her a cup of tea. Ron passed her some toast. They then applied themselves to breakfast as if it were the most important thing in the world. Eventually there was no more room for food, and the issue had to be faced.

"Alright?" asked Harry, a world of meaning in the question.

Hermione nodded. "Fine."

Ron patted her hand. "At least you don't have potions today."

Hermione smiled faintly. "I imagine I'm not the only one who's grateful about that."

Ron snorted. "Come off it Hermione. It'd be like the day after you got married, only worse. It'd be points deduction into triple figures."

Hermione shook her head. Severus wouldn't do that, couldn't do that, there was no way to rescue the student-teacher relationship and re-establish his authority by simple taking points away. Things had changed between them for good, and there was nothing to be done about it. All she could do is make sure he understood that neither she nor the boys were going to take advantage of that change. "And I want you two to promise me that you'll be on your best behaviour in potions tomorrow."

"But Hermione," whined Ron. "You can't expect us to treat the Greasy Git any differently. Not just because you've… erm … you're married."

"Yes I can," she said levelly. "If it helps, you can think of him as my husband, Mr Granger, if you like, rather than Professor Snape. You're not being nice to the Greasy Git; you're being nice to the man who saved me from Malfoy. Besides, it's just one lesson. After that you can go back to normal."

Harry looked up at the teachers. Even he could tell that Snape looked a little out of sorts. Perhaps it would be the sensible thing to let a week go by before hostilities were resumed, just in case he really lost it. Detentions with Filch weren't so much fun that he wanted to spend the rest of his school year having them.

He caught Ron's eye, jerked his head significantly, and watched him come to the same conclusion.

"Alright, then, Hermione, we'll try to be good for a week," Harry said. Ron nodded his agreement.

They were as good as their word. It was a very subdued Harry and Ron that sat in Potions, which unnerved Snape more than any misbehaviour would have done. He was just on the point of snapping at them, and telling them to stop being so bloody respectful because it was getting on his nerves, when there was a knock at the door.

He snapped a demand to enter, and descended on the hapless student in a flurry of robes.

"Excuse me, Sir. But the Headmaster would like to see you and Miss Granger in his office right away."

Hermione was sure that Snape flinched at the news. She wasn't exactly happy about it herself. Why on earth did the Headmaster have to drag them out of lessons? It was hardly discreet. Still sulking about being turned down?

"Very well, Stebbins. Tell the Headmaster we will be along in a minute." Snape turned on the class, instantly silencing the chatter that had broken out as the children speculated on what was happening.

"I can't trust any of you to continue in my absence, certainly not with Mr Longbottom in the class, so the lesson is over. Homework will consist of four and a half feet on the proper brewing of this potion, and we will try it again next week, if the Headmaster sees fit to allow it. You will dispose of your feeble attempts at the potion in the fume cupboard in an orderly fashion. Mr Malfoy will oversee the process, and be warned boy that I will hold you responsible for any accidents, no matter the cause. Miss Granger, if you would….. I find myself agog to find out what you have been up to that requires you to be plucked from my lessons at such short notice. Stealing from my stores again, perhaps?"

Bastard. Though, on second thoughts, he had covered their tracks nicely. Hermione followed Professor Snape through the door, head bowed, and giving every impression of a worried student.

It was easy enough. She was a worried student.


	11. In which we meet an old er friend

"Have you got any idea what this is about?" Hermione asked anxiously as they made their way to the Headmaster's office. Percy wasn't due until next week, so surely it couldn't be about their marriage, and yet, what else would see both of them summoned from classes in this way?

"I should think that's obvious, it must be about our marriage," he said, for once not commenting on the inanity of her question. She was bound to be nervous, and snarling at her before the meeting was likely to be counterproductive. He tried very hard not to think about the fact that she felt more like his wife now, and not his student, and that his consideration of her feelings may not be entirely pragmatic. "Perhaps Percy has been told to move his inspection up. We'll find out soon enough."

Severus didn't look worried, which annoyed Hermione no end. If she was worried, he ought to be worried; surely that was what marriage was about, sharing your worries. A trouble shared was a trouble halved, and even better was a trouble passed on to someone else entirely. He sounded happy, cheerful, even. "You're looking forward to this," she said, almost accusingly.

"Oh yes." Severus stopped still in the corridor and looked at her through hooded eyes. He certainly didn't look anything like as innocent as the cat who'd been at the cream. If he'd been a cat, there would have been mouse-tails hanging out of the corner of his mouth and a definite display of claw. "There's no point winning, if you don't get to rub the noses of your opponents in it, now is there?"

Hermione was taken aback. She'd never thought of it like that. "Is this some sort of Slytherin thing?"

"It's a human thing, Hermione."

She supposed he was right. She'd spent so much time during the war worrying about whether they would win, that the actual victory had come as something of an anti-climax: it was more that the constant stress was over, rather than any positive feeling. And then of course, this bloody Marriage Law thing had come up, before their victory had had a chance to sink in, and any chance for gloating had arrived. Sometimes she wondered whether they had won the war, because this marriage law seemed to be carrying on the same conflict by other means.

Maybe Severus was right though, maybe the time had come to point out to people that she wasn't a nice little Gryffindor anymore. The penalties for losing wouldn't be entirely one-sided this time. She was saw so busy pondering that point, that Severus strode off towards the office alone, and she had to hurry after him. She hated these bloody robes sometimes, they were a bugger to run in; you had to hold them with one hand, to keep your knees free, and make sure you didn't trip over them.

They arrived together – Hermione was slightly breathless from having to chase after him, which appeared to amuse Severus – and he knocked on the door.

The door swung open – really, there was no need for such an ostentatious use of magic - and there was Dumbledore sitting behind his desk, looking extremely uncomfortable. That didn't look like good news. Percy was such a sycophant, that he would be almost unable to be rude to the Headmaster. Most people, in fact, seemed to treat Albus with a great deal of deference, a deference that he really didn't deserve, but which would have been useful to hide behind, if at all possible. Whoever was in there with Albus was clearly not going to be easily despatched.

She felt the familiar worry-induced tightening of her stomach, and her wand hand twitched. She hesitated at the door, trying to put off the evil moment, but Severus gestured for her to precede him. He was right, whatever – or whoever – it was, couldn't be ignored, no matter how much she might want to. She only hoped that Severus was right and that there would be an opportunity for them to gloat afterwards, though she would settle for a simple victory.

She moved to stand in front of the desk, and adopted the usual stance of recalcitrant children summoned to the Headmaster's office, hands behind her back, head dipped so all she could see was the pattern on the carpet. She'd been here a time or two over the years. It all conspired to make her feel like a naughty schoolgirl, instead of the powerful and determined witch she was.

Which was probably the point, she thought.

Severus, always sensitive to the subtle nuances of power, Accio'd a chair for her from its position pushed up against the wall, and she sat down carefully smoothing her robes into place. That was better. She'd never been offered the courtesy of a chair before, and it did go some way to dispel the feeling that somehow she was about to be punished for wrongdoing.

Severus then took up a position on her right hand shoulder. He used that stance in Potions to reduce his students to quivering jelly; here, it was comforting.

"Headmaster," Professor Snape said in as bland a tone as she'd ever heard him use. "You wanted to see us."

"Ahem."

Hermione almost flinched. She remembered that cough, and the awful woman that went with it: Umbridge. Severus hand came down on her shoulder and squeezed, whether in warning or comfort she didn't know. Hermione couldn't think of anyone she would less like to deal with at the moment, even Lucius Malfoy would be preferable; at least she'd never lured Lucius into an ambush by centaurs. Umbridge was just the sort of person to bear a grudge, although a dispassionate observer would admit that being ambushed by centaurs was just the sort of thing to make even a well-balanced person hold a grudge let alone that _cow_.

Hermione was the sort to bear grudges too, and what she'd done to Harry's hand was unforgivable.

Albus wasn't happy about his office being invaded; his twinkle was entirely absent, and he looked all of his years. "As you can see, Madam Umbridge is here on behalf of the Ministry. There appears to be some sort of difficulty with your marriage."

"Really, Headmaster." It wasn't Severus who was speaking, but Professor Snape. She'd grown used to hearing a slightly softer, less sneering tone from him, and it was something of a shock to hear that voice drip honeyed poison again.

Umbridge moved from her position, lurking by the door, and came to stand next to the desk, arms folded and lips pursed, looking smug. She was obviously determined to enjoy every minute of her perceived triumph, and Hermione was rapidly coming round to the idea of rubbing Umbridge's nose in it.

"Really, Professor," she said, mimicking his inflections precisely.

"And what, precisely, has this to do with you Madam?"

"The Minister has asked me to look into this personally," she said, all smug condescension. "I have been appointed to be his Special Investigator in this matter. It was felt that Mr Weasley – though competent enough in his own way – seemed to lack the necessary zeal to prosecute this matter as it should be." Here she paused to assess their reaction to Percy's removal. Hermione had had far too much experience of lying to the Headmaster, to Severus, to McGonagall, in fact, to just about everyone, to be caught out so easily. Hermione expected that Severus wouldn't look surprised on general principle, even if he was offered the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, a massive pay-rise, and a position on the Board of Governors. Umbridge's nostrils flared in annoyance at the lack of response. "So I'm afraid that your little arrangement is over, Miss Granger. It was quite clever, dear, but not clever enough."

"Mrs Snape," Hermione said firmly. "I am Mrs Snape now."

"Well know, that really remains to be seen doesn't it? If you persist in maintaining that you are ... ahem... husband and wife, then of course you can have no objection to accompanying me to the ... ahem ... appropriate department at the Ministry and proving that the marriage has in fact been ... ahem ... consummated?"

"Appropriate department?" Hermione faltered. She didn't like the sound of that at all. "And what do you mean by proof?"

Umbridge looked even smugger, if that were possible. "You would be required to undergo a medical examination to determine whether you are ... ahem ... still a virgin, and then answer certain questions whilst under veritaserum. After all, you may well have not gone to your marriage bed a virgin; we do need to be sure that you have ... ahem ... actually had coition with your husband rather than others."

Hermione flushed bright red. It was bad enough discussing her sex life in front of the Headmaster, and her husband of precisely one night's standing, without the possibility of being mauled about by one of Umbrdge's cronies.

The hand returned to her shoulder again, this time it was definitely a warning to keep quiet. "I'm afraid that won't be possible," Professor Snape said, even managing to sound regretful. "As you know, such a procedure would require my consent, and that consent isn't going to be forthcoming."

The warning was unnecessary. She wasn't about to break out into an impassioned defence of the rights of wives at this point, not when the barbaric rules were the only thing standing between her and an appointment with a cold speculum.

Umbridge's lips thinned. "Really, Professor Snape, you surprise me. I would have thought that you would have been only too pleased to free yourself from this sham of a marriage, which was doubtless forced on you by others. You can hardly be happy about being married to a child." Her meaningful glance at Dumbledore indicated who she thought was the prime mover in all this.

"Madam Umbridge, you should know by now that I make my own choices, and I'm not susceptible to pressure no matter who brings it to bear." Hermione wondered quite what Severus was getting at there: something that happened when Umbridge was here before presumably, something she had asked him to do, and he had refused obviously, but exactly what sort of pressure? Offers of the DADA position, or something more personal? Dear god, not the offer of the DADA position in return for ... ahem ... services rendered. Hermione shuddered; that thought was just too horrid to contemplate.

Umbridge's expression turned ugly. Well, to be fair, thought Hermione dispassionately, it turned uglier: her expression was already naturally ugly. Whatever Severus was hinting at, and Hermione made a mental note to ask him if she ever found him in confiding mood, it had struck home. "If you prove recalcitrant on this matter, I can see no alternative to a full Wizengamot hearing."

"I'm sure that the Daily Prophet will take an interest in the proceedings," said Snape meditatively, examining his fingernails with studied indifference. "Particularly the finer details of how the offence – as it were – was committed."

Umbridge's lips stretched in a thin smile. "There would be reporting restrictions of course. I'm sure that you'd prefer to keep the details of your private life exactly that. So many of your ex-colleagues are likely to react poorly to the news that you've married a Mu ... Muggle, that such restrictions would be necessary to keep both you and your child bride from unsavoury attentions."

"I hardly think that Madam Bones will accept that argument. She's notoriously eager for justice to be seen to be done."

"I'm afraid that Madam Bones may not be available to oversee the matter. It's hardly important enough to merit the attention of the full Wizengamot. Perhaps a smaller hearing with more junior members?" Umbridge replied, with a poorly concealed air of triumph.

In other words, a small hearing in private composed of placemen and people too junior to be able to make a difference. Hermione was beginning to get a little worried. Umbridge seemed to have an answer for everything; surely she wasn't going to get away with this? She'd married Severus for his sneaky tendencies and his ability to wriggle out of trouble, but so far she hadn't seen much sign of it.

"Indeed. Mr Murbles suggested that you might take that course of action." It seemed she had misjudged him. Snape's voice had taken on that silky purr that showed he was entirely confident of his ground, and just on the point of pouncing on his hapless prey.

"Mr Murbles? You've consulted him on this matter?" Perhaps that was a faint chink in her armour; she seemed a little uneasy at the thought of Murbles.

"Indeed." Snape dropped the word into the conversation with all the finality of a paw descending on the hapless mouse for the last time; the cat was bored of playing and was moving in for the kill.

There was a moment of silence whilst Umbridge worked through the implications of that, and then, judging from the unpleasant smile on his face, arrived at an answer that suited her. "I think you'll have to do better than that, Professor. Mr Murbles may be the ... ahem ... lawyer of choice of a certain Pureblood element, but even he has to submit to the law."

"Precisely." The jaws had closed around the prey; the neck snapped. "I take it, that you are unaware of the family history of Minister Fudge, or rather, Mrs Fudge?"

Umbridge looked blank.

Snape proceeded to the dismembering, and the tearing of entrails. "It appears that Mrs Fudge's father is in fact a product of a mixed marriage. Her paternal grandfather married a Muggle, in a Muggle ceremony. Now you know, and I know, that the only reason that the Minister married his wife is her large dowry, a large dowry that depends on recognising that Muggle ceremony as valid. If it were to be set aside, well, the Minister could find himself having to hand back all his wife's money. I'm sure that's a sacrifice he's prepared to make, in order to ensure the success of his Marriage Law."

Albus was paying a great deal of attention to his desk. He may have felt a little slighted about being passed over for Severus, once he had a chance to think about things, but his dislike of Umbridge was more profound. She'd made few friends in her short stay at Hogwarts.

"That's blackmail," snapped Umbridge.

"I'd say so, yes." Professor Snape said smoothly.

There was bitter silence from Umbridge. "You think you're so clever," she hissed, pushing her face so close to Hermione, that she could see the faint trace of moustache on her upper lip. "You come into our world and expect all the rules to change to suit you. Well you'll learn your lesson, I'll make sure of it."

Hermione was shaken by the woman's hatred, but was determined not to let her have the satisfaction of showing it and met her glare for glare.

"Good day, Dolores," said Albus, determinedly cheerful. It seemed Dumbledore wasn't above rubbing salt into the wound. It almost made her like him again, for a moment.

Umbridge departed, slamming the door behind her, without another word. For a brief moment after the departure of Umbridge, there was a smug silence in the room as they all revelled in the victory.

"Well," said Dumbledore. "Very nicely done, if I may say so. A pleasure to watch as always Severus."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Severus replied, all sleek fur and his claws now demurely put away. He tapped Hermione on the shoulder. "Come along. It's nearly lunchtime, and I expect your hangers on are filled with curiosity. I'm surprised they haven't stormed the Headmaster's office, demanding an explanation already."

"They're not that bad," Hermione replied, following him to the door.

Severus held the door open for her as she left the office, and cocked an eyebrow at her in disbelief as she smiled up at him in the corridor.

"You know," she said confidentially to Professor Snape, "you were absolutely right about the gloating. It is a lot of fun."

"Of course, if you wanted to repay me, Miss Granger....." Severus left the sentence hanging, but she didn't bite. "That was your cue to say, 'anything, Professor'," he added, to make the point clear.

"I know, but I'm not stupid. I'm not about to lay myself wide open like that. No, Professor, Gryffindor doesn't equal stupid, no matter what you might think. Tell me what you had in mind, and then I'll see if I can agree to it."

He scowled at her: ungrateful minx. "Your potions essays to be within a couple of inches of the minimum length, rather than a couple of feet."

Hermione's smile widened, and for a horrible moment he thought she was planning to write even longer essays. "If that's all you want," she said, in a voice rich with amusement. "I can do that."

He suddenly realised that he'd sold himself short, yet again. He could have asked for something else, something much more important, and stood every chance of getting it. What was it about Hermione that made him so bloody helpful, and what could he do to counteract it?

They were heading along the corridor in what passed for a companionable silence – Hermione was wondering what Umbridge was up to, and Severus was wondering what steps he could take to keep Hermione under control - when the boys came clattering along at high speed, and hurried up to them. Severus considered deducting points for running in the corridors, and then mentally shrugged; what was the point? He needed to regain the upper hand, it was true, but nothing as crude as points deduction was going to work in this situation. He needed time to think and come up with a strategy.

"Come on then," said Ron. "Tell us what happened."

He reminded Severus of a toddler tugging on his mother's sleeve, asking for sweeties. Hermione smiled up at Professor Snape, and said, "Well the Ministry sent Umbridge to try and browbeat us into agreeing to set aside the marriage, and the Professor was absolutely wonderful, and sent her off with her tail between their legs."

Was it Severus' imagination, or were the boys disappointed to find that their services as heroic rescuers weren't required? And a little surprised to find he and Hermione on such good terms? Interesting. Now that could be useful. The day hadn't been a complete waste of time if he'd managed to get under Potter's skin.

"She passed us on the stairs; she didn't look happy," Harry said giving Severus what could only be called a funny look. "In fact, she looked like she'd swallowed a wasp."

"Thus adding to her natural beauty." Severus smirked at Hermione, earning him more odd looks from the boys. Really, was it so odd that he should share a joke with his wife?

"Well, at least we've seen the back of her. Hopefully, that's the end of the matter, for now at least." There was a definite note of triumph in Hermione's voice; she'd taken to gloating like a duck to water.

"The last we saw, she was having a word with Filch," Ron said.

Severus looked mildly concerned. "I wonder what she's up to. I think I'd better have a word with our caretaker."

"That's a good idea," Hermione said. "I don't trust her as far as I could throw her, though I'd like to find out just how far that is."

"I'm so gratified to find my actions meet with your approval," Severus said, with the slightest hint of claw extended. He wasn't a teenaged boy who needed instruction; he was an experienced spy and Slytherin who required a certain amount of respect.

Severus was amused at the identical looks of outrage on the boys' faces. Hermione, stiffened, and said, "Of course, Professor."

It made him feel guilty - that was what the feeling was, though it took him some time to identify the novel sensation – and then irritated at feeling guilty, and then guilty again about being irritated and it all swirled together until he was filled with the urge to deduct points from someone, anyone, to recover his temper. Instead, he said, rather more softly than he intended, "I'll let you know what I find out as soon as possible. Don't worry."

There was a faint twist of her lips, and she nodded; his half-apology was accepted for what it was. "Right you two," she said briskly. "I'm starving. And it's Eve's Pudding for afters, I think, so come on."

He watched them troop off dutifully for lunch, chattering like magpies. Hermione was doubtless telling them all about the meeting, and they were making the necessary noises of support. He was surprised when, just before they turned left to go down the stairs, Hermione looked back, and raised a hand in a half-wave.

His hand had moved in reply, before he realised what he was doing, and snatched it back to his side. Too late, she'd gone; now it looked like he'd waved at her.

Buggeration.

He strode off to find Filch and bully him to within an inch of his life. He may be helping Miss Granger, but no one said he couldn't have a little fun as well.

Filch was easily found. He was in the trophy room, polishing the silverware. He always said it helped him to think. Privately, Snape thought that the only thing that was going to help him think was a brain transplant; even a Wit-Sharpening potion wouldn't help.

Normally Severus liked to think of himself as a man of great subtlety. It would all be wasted on Filch, so he went straight for the kill. "So, what did the Delectable Dolores want with you Argus?"

Argus carefully put the plaque he was holding back in the cabinet, and closed the door, before replying. "She was telling me all about your nuptials, Professor."

Bugger. Now he faced two choices: the direct lie, or admitting the truth and hoping that some way could be found to keep the man's mouth shut. Obliviate was favourite. "Oh, yes?" he said, playing for time.

Argus nodded, then fished a grimy rag out of his pocket and began wiping his fingers. His intentions became clear, when he stuck a marginally less filthy hand out, seized Snape's hand, and began pumping it up and down. "Congratulations, Professor. I hope you'll be very happy."

Severus was bewildered; was Filch some sort of closet romantic or was that an attempt at sarcasm?

"I reckon that Dolores didn't take the news well." Argus adopted a confidential, man-to-man air that made Severus want to hex him into the middle of next week. He was the bloody caretaker, for god's sake, not his long-lost friend. "I reckon she had her eye on you."

"I...er...reckon you might be right," Snape said. "She certainly seemed disappointed this morning." He did condescend to smirk at Filch.

"I mean, Dolores was telling me that the Headmaster _made_ you wed the girl, but that can't be right. There must have been something in it for you, if you know what I mean." Argus left eyelid drifted shut.

"Only the knowledge that I've helped a student in distress," Snape replied repressively, determined to quash any speculation along that front.

He was horrified when Filch leered at him. "Oh I see, Professor."

"And a bloody big pay-rise," he added hurriedly. He'd rather be thought of as prepared to sell his soul for money than someone who lusted after schoolchildren.

"Well, don't worry Professor; your little secret is safe with me." Filch seemed disappointed that it was a mercenary transaction; his fevered imagination had doubtless pictured him and Hermione performing all sorts of salacious acts. Severus shuddered. Ew.

"I'd be grateful if you would, Argus," he replied, trying to sound warm and confiding, when all he wanted to do is disappear to his quarters and wash himself. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go to lunch."

"Of course, Professor."

When Severus opened the doors to the Great Hall, lunch was well underway. He swept majestically between the serried ranks of the children, until he reached Hermione. "I trust," he said icily, "that there will be no re-occurrence of the events that lead to this morning's trip to the Headmaster's office."

"No, Professor." Hermione hung her head in dutiful submission.

"Good. I have just come from an interesting discussion with Mr Filch, who tells me that the school silver is in dire need of polishing."

Hermione's head shot up at that, a question in her eyes.

"He assures me," he continued, "that he is perfectly willing to accommodate any student caught breaking the rules. I hope we understand each other on this point." Hopefully that was sufficiently vague to get his point across without announcing the problem to the world at large.

"Yes, Professor." She ducked her head again, doubtless to hide her grin. Ron wasn't so discreet, and it took a severe glare from Snape to wipe the smile off his face.

As he continued on his way to High Table, he could hear the Gryffindor table breaking out into whispers behind him, unhappy at his treatment of Hermione. Which was just as it should be. It looked like they were going to get away with this for a bit longer.

He settled himself at his usual chair, and glared down at the students who were still talking to a thin-lipped Hermione who kept shaking her head in response to all the questions. When she was sure that no one was looking she flashed a quick glance up at him, nodded to confirm she'd understood the message, and then started chatting to Ron and Harry. If she had any sense, she'd be whining as loudly as possible about his behaviour to make sure their tracks were firmly covered.

The good thing about being married to a bright woman was that it wasn't necessary to spell everything out. Of course, it would be a problem in a real marriage, as it would be impossible to get anything past her, but there was no need to worry about that in this case. The way things were going, in three years, maybe four at the outside, they would be divorced and he could begin looking for the amenable blonde with the large breasts.

He turned his attention to lunch. He was pleased to see that Hermione was right and it was indeed Eve's pudding. He rather thought he deserved an extra large portion today.

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	12. In which there is more bad news

The days passed, and nothing happened, and Hermione gradually moved from gloating to feeling smug. It wasn't that she doubted that there would be more battles to come, but she was determined to enjoy this victory while it lasted, and she felt that with Snape by her side the other battles would be won – not necessarily easily – but won nonetheless. She'd been a little surprised that the boys weren't as impressed with Severus' actions as her, and they were so consistently and persistently pessimistic about what was going to happen next, but had chosen to ignore them in favour of the rosy glow that enveloped her.

She asked Ginny what was up with them one afternoon when the boys were at Quidditch practice, leaving the Common Room almost empty. Ginny suggested that they were annoyed that Professor Snape had headed off Umbridge, rather than them dashing to the rescue.

"Oh, bloody hell," Hermione said, thoroughly exasperated. "That was precisely the sodding point of marrying him! That he would be able to sort things out in a way that a couple of schoolboys couldn't."

Ginny shrugged. "No one said that they were very bright."

"Well, they're getting on my nerves. I've no intention of spending the rest of my life worrying about what Umbridge is up to, just to make them feel better. I'm going to want their help, of course I am, but they're going to have to get used to the fact that Professor Snape is going to be involved as well. There's no point letting all that experience going to waste; he knows so much about the Pureblood world, and they'll take him seriously where they'll just ignore me."

Ginny couldn't argue with any of that. She could see that Professor Snape could be helpful; it's just that she couldn't understand why he would choose to be. And that worried her. "I don't think they expected you to get on so well with the Professor, you know," she suggested.

Hermione smiled. "I didn't expect to get on with him so well either. He's surprisingly reasonable when you get to know him. I just hope he's going to be reasonable about letting me go to Hogsmeade."

"What's it got to do with him?"

"Professor McGonagall says that I have to ask him to sign my permission slip, now that I'm a married woman. Apparently the old one won't do any more."

Ginny goggled at her. "Oh, that's ridiculous."

Hermione shrugged. "You don't have to tell me, but there it is. No slip; no Hogsmeade. I thought I'd slip along this afternoon and ask him. That way I can try and pass it off as asking for extra help on my essay. People will think I'm potty, but it's the best I can do."

"Well, you seem to have the knack of managing him. What do you do? Flutter your eyelashes?"

"Don't be daft," Hermione said in exasperation. "I don't manage him, as you put it, at all. Can you imagine what he'd do if I turned up and fluttered my eyelashes at him? It'd be a snotty query as to whether I was feeling alright, and sent to the Infirmary to have my eyes checked."

Ginny giggled. "He would too, wouldn't he? And deduct points for wasting his time." She turned a couple of pages in the book she was very obviously not reading. "You like him don't you?" she asked, as casually as she could manage.

Hermione looked at her suspiciously. What was she getting at? "I've always had the greatest respect for Professor Snape."

Ginny pursed her lips. "Come off it, Hermione, we're talking about a bit more than respect. You're practically kissing his feet in gratitude every time he walks past, you're getting the boys to behave in classes; it's unnatural if you ask me."

"Professor Snape has bloody well done his best for me," snapped Hermione. "There's nothing wrong with showing him a bit of appreciation, you know. P'raps if others tried the same tactics, he wouldn't be such a prickly sod."

"If you say so, Hermione," Ginny said, and let the matter drop in a very irritating way, that showed she hadn't conceded the point at all, whatever that point was.

Hermione would have continued the argument – she respected Snape, but they couldn't be called friends, not whilst she was at school and the teacher/student divide still lay between them – but she knew she was heading into dangerous waters. She couldn't offer an explanation as to why Snape had decided to help her, because she hadn't got a clue. He'd enjoyed getting one over on Lucius and Albus, and he'd certainly enjoyed getting one over on Umbridge, but his reason for helping her had to run a bit deeper than that.

She did occasionally, late at night, wonder what was going through that labyrinthine mind of his but what tentative conclusions she'd drawn she was keeping to herself. It wasn't just that she'd promised that she'd keep the details of their relationship private, but that she liked the idea that she knew something about him that no one else did. Nor did she want the boys barging in with their size twelve boots to disturb the delicate balance she was negotiating in their not-quite-friendship; not until it was more secure.

It wasn't as if she was blind to his faults, whatever Ginny was hinting. This friendship didn't prevent him from deriving great enjoyment from her predicament, certainly over more trivial matters.

It was a very disgruntled Hermione who gathered her notes together, and went in search of Professor Snape, very pointedly ignoring Ginny and her whispered 'Good Luck'.

Hermione was still slightly peeved about her promise to cut down on her homework: she was finding it really difficult to get all of the information that she wanted into her essays. He'd returned the first scroll – written in tiny, crabbed handwriting - after the Umbridge Affair with a scrawled comment that 'This isn't in the spirit of the agreement, Miss Granger'.

He had a point; the next scroll was dead on target and written in normal-sized handwriting, but didn't even begin to touch on the deeper implications of the uses of Periwinkle. It was annoying. She tried to convince herself that she was becoming more succinct, but deep down she knew she was skimping on the topic.

And she could tell from the smirk on his face when she handed her work in, that he knew just how much it irritated her. So, no, she didn't 'manage' him at all; she very carefully tried not to manage him, as she couldn't think of anything that was likely to irritate him more. You asked him for what you wanted, and, if you were lucky, he'd do it. Just because she'd been lucky so far, didn't mean Professor Snape had changed his fundamental approach to life, which was to annoy as many people as possible.

She just wondered what he was going to ask in return for signing the slip.

Professor Dumbledore insisted that all teachers had an open door policy for several hours a week, to answer any queries that students might have. Professor Snape had announced this to his classes at the beginning of year, and made it clear that he didn't expect anyone to avail themselves of this privilege. It was probably the first time in his time of teaching that a Gryffindor had voluntarily turned up at his office, and, from the look of surprise when he opened the door, she could well be the only student ever to trouble him other than for detention.

Professor Snape, predictably, found the whole thing immensely amusing. "The Headmaster does have these old fashioned ideas about women obeying their husbands." She was fortunate – according to Professor Snape – to be allowed to go. "I'm not sure that it's suitable for my wife to be gallivanting around Hogsmeade being frivolous, you know."

She sighed. "What do you want this time? I'm not reducing my essays any further."

"Of course not, Miss Granger. I'm surprised that you should try and use your position to wriggle out of Homework in that way."

She was becoming used to his odd sense of humour – the secret was not to rise to the bait – and simply waited for him to come clean.

"Cockroach clusters. A half pound bag, I think."

She'd proffered the form; he'd signed it, and that was that.

How could she explain that to anyone? Professor Snape and a sweet tooth; they'd never believe her.

The boys had been relieved when she'd shown them the permission slip, having had visions of Hermione being forced to stay behind and clean cauldrons. Which was pretty silly really. Professor Snape would far rather she were out of the castle – and his hair – than stuck within 400 yards of him.

The boys had rushed through breakfast on the morning they were due to go to Hogsmeade, clearly determined not to waste any time that could be better spent staring at Racing Brooms. A new Nimbus was to be revealed to an admiring world, which meant that most of the students were discussing the finer points of the new-and-improved-charms which made it faster, and more manoeuvrable. Purists were objecting to the addition of golden highlights on the stick, and were listening to complicated explanations from the Muggleborns about go-faster stripes.

At least this would give her the chance to sneak off to Honeydukes without explanation.

Professor McGonagall had drawn the short straw, and had been delegated to oversee the trip. The younger children were milling around in the courtyard, full of anticipation at their first visit to the village, and refusing to stand still. "No one," said the Professor, "will be allowed to leave the castle until I have order." Hermione and the other Prefects began chivvying the Third Years into a crocodile for their better supervision. Once order was restored, Professor McGonagall had gravely accepted Hermione's permission slip, and then the convoy had formed up behind her and begun its stately progress to Hogsmeade.

Seeing the enthusiastic Third Years rushing round, shrieking with excitement, and pointing things out to each other, just in case they'd missed something, reminded her of her first time. Then, she too had been entranced by it, by how different it was: all the oddly dressed people, and the ramshackle houses that were clearly held up by magic. She'd been filled with a desire to show that she belonged here, in this new world. She couldn't put her finger on the moment it had all changed, because now, well, now she wasn't sure it had been worth it.

She didn't really like Hogsmeade very much any more. She didn't like the sweets, was indifferent to Quidditch supplies, and the bookshop was wholly inadequate for her purposes; she'd been ordering her books from the bigger Flourish and Botts in Diagon Alley for years. It was more than that though; somewhere along the line she'd stopped being impressed by the Wizarding World

It wasn't just the Marriage Law – though that had been the last straw – but the willingness of Dumbledore to use Harry as a pawn, without a hint of conscience, and all the petty power struggles between him and Fudge. It wasn't that life was necessarily fairer or safer in the Muggle world, just that they at least believed that the world should be fair and safe.

It was a bit like one of those Regency Romances. It was fun to read about heaving bosoms and handsome bucks, but when it came right down to it, did you really want to live there. Fantasy was one thing; reality was another.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" Ron asked, nudging her firmly in the ribs. "You're a bit quiet today."

"I need to get some Potions books," she said. "For research purposes. I'm just wondering which ones would be best." That should see the boys running in the opposite direction as quickly as possible, leaving her free to sort out Snape's order and avoid another long discussion with Ginny.

"Oh. Research." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "About contraceptive potions?" He blushed red. "Do you want us to help?"

Harry looked horrified at the thought of spending a precious afternoon in a bookshop, but seconded Ron's offer nonetheless.

Hermione was surprised by a rush of affection for the pair of them; she couldn't ask for better friends. "Don't be silly," she said gruffly, giving the pair of them a hug in turn. "It shouldn't take me that long, and I know the pair of you are dying to look at the new racing broom. Why don't we meet outside Honeydukes, in about an hour?"

"Get off," Harry said, wriggling free, with a broad grin.

"See you later." Ron grabbed Harry by the arm, and they hurried off to admire the new broom.

She watched them go fondly, then, as soon as they were out of sight, headed off to purchase Cockroach Clusters.

Honeydukes was packed, and she had to elbow quite a few of the younger students out of her way to get to place her order. She decided to get a pound of clusters, just in case the Professor placed a second order, and some chocolate frogs for Harry and Ron. She was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of nostalgia for her childhood, when things were simpler. Every Sunday she'd been allowed some sweeties, provided she cleaned her teeth thoroughly afterwards. She'd sit in front of the telly, watching Dr Who or something with her parents, and eating chocolate. She didn't suppose that Honeyduke's would have them, but it was worth asking, and maybe she could persuade them to order some in for her for next time. "I wonder," she asked, "do you have any Muggle sweets?"

"Yes, Miss. We do carry a limited stock, as a sort of novelty item. We don't put them on display, because some of the more old-fashioned element disapprove." The assistant scrabbled around under the counter, and then bobbed up again, a list in her hand. "We've got dark chocolate, milk chocolate bars, something called Maltesers, and boxes of chocolates. What did you have in mind?"

Hermione grinned; suddenly the world seemed a better place.

In the end, she didn't buy the entire stock of Muggle chocolate, but it was a close run thing. She had planned to nip into the bookshop – even a bad bookshop was a good bookshop in her eyes – but she'd spent so much time in Honeydukes she didn't think she'd have the time to make it there and back before the boys turned up.

So she sat herself down on a convenient bench, pulled out a book she'd thoughtfully provided, and settled down to wait. It was bloody chilly, and it was hard to concentrate on her book when she was beginning to lose all sensation in her toes. A shadow fell across her book, and she looked up, expecting it to be the boys. Words of greeting died in her mouth, as she stared into the unfriendly face of Umbridge.

This could not be good.

"Good morning, Mrs Snape." It was all she said; it was all she had to say.

Shocked gasps came from behind her; it was clear they'd been heard. If she was lucky, it would be a Slytherin, who would be so in awe of their Head of House that the mere threat of his displeasure would be enough to keep their mouths shut. The luck wasn't with her; it was Lavender, a girl who could be relied upon to spread the news faster than the Hogwarts Express, and who couldn't be stopped from doing so, short of an Obliviate.

Well, she wouldn't give the bitch the satisfaction of seeing her flinch, so she smiled politely – barely more than stretching her lips – and calmly said, "Shall I give my husband your regards?"

Umbridge really wasn't very good at this sort of thing, Hermione reflected. She had all the subtlety of a lump hammer, and you could tell what she was thinking – if so basic a function could be dignified with the name thought – by her expression, which made it really easy to know when to strike for the jugular.

Hermione was uneasily aware that she'd been spending too much time with Snape, because she was starting to think like him, and how she wished he was here to back her up, or even the boys. She pushed that to the back of her mind and concentrated on the personage in front of her who seemed to have mastered her irritation long enough to make another attempt at causing trouble.

"You don't fool me for one second, putting that brave face on." Umbridge's face was mottled in rage, with two prominent patches of red on her cheeks. "Now the whole school knows your dirty little secret."

Hermione rose to her feet, forcing Umbridge to take a step back. "Oh, that was Dumbledore's idea, something about keeping it quiet for the sake of school discipline. Now, at last, we'll be able to come out into the open, and it's all thanks to you. I'm certainly not ashamed of being married to Professor Snape, on the contrary. As I'm sure you know, he's something of a catch, isn't he Dolores?"

Umbridge looked uncertain, until she caught sight of Lavender, surrounded by a group of girls, talking nineteen to the dozen and throwing surreptitious glances over at them, and a truly nasty smile appeared. "Let's see what your little chums think of it, shall we?" She turned on her heel, and stalked off, nearly bowling the boys over in her eagerness to spread her poison elsewhere.

"What's up Hermione?" asked Harry, glaring at the departing woman's back.

Lavender seized her chance and, before Hermione could reply, came hurrying over to ask, "Is it true then? Have you married Snape?"

"Professor Snape," she snapped automatically. "And, yes, it's true."

"Bloody hell. When was this, and why didn't you tell anyone?" Lavender was breathless with excitement; this was the most interesting thing that had happened all term.

"Because it's none of your business, Lavender Brown," Ron said, getting all indignant on Hermione's behalf.

"There's no need for that kind of attitude, Ronald Weasley. I'm just asking."

"Well, I'm just telling, so sod off."

Lavender flounced off in disgust and headed back to her cronies, to pick the bones out of the news.

Harry glared at the group. He still had bitter memories of being on the receiving end of Gryffindor gossip, and it seemed that some people hadn't learned anything at all, and were just as quick to jump to conclusions. He could just imagine the lurid tales there were concocting, and would soon be circulating the castle under the guise of truth. "Well that's the end of our trip then," he said. "You'll be needing a little word with the Professor. You don't want him to find out about this little problem from anyone else, do you?"

"Actually? I think I might." Hermione tucked her book in her pocket, and slung her satchel over her arm. "He is not going to be pleased."

"You'll be alright," Harry said. "I mean, he's almost nice to you these days."

"I know." She sighed. "Well that's about to change, isn't it?"

"I don't see why," Ron said. "I mean, it's not as if it's your fault."

"As if that's ever stopped Snape," Harry said, adding wearily, before Hermione could correct him, "Professor Snape, I mean."

"Yeah, but that was before. Now, well it's different, isn't it? They're married. He's promised to look after her. So he's sort of got to. All I'm saying," Ron said, "is I'm looking forward to the Potions. If one of that lot is daft enough to even think the wrong thing, well, there'll be blood on the walls."

Lavender was very surprised to see that the three of them were looking at her with very wide grins. If she'd had any ability to read the future at all, a chill would have run down her spine.

It didn't take Hermione long to make her way back to Hogwarts. The boys had stayed behind to talk to the more sensible students in an attempt to head off the worst of the gossip. There was nothing like living through a war to give you a fine appreciation of why marrying Draco Malfoy was unlikely to be conducive to happiness. Even in his present, emasculated condition, Lucius Malfoy was still someone you'd think twice before crossing.

Professor Snape was, fortunately, in his office. She certainly didn't fancy tracking him down to his private quarters to have this discussion. There was bound to be talk enough, without her being seen spending time alone with him in the immediate vicinity of a bed. Though she failed to see why the presence of a bed made any form of misbehaviour more likely, when, judging from her duties as a prefect, any surface at all would do for people determined to misbehave.

"Miss Granger, do tell me why I have the pleasure of your company on a weekend? I presume this is a personal visit, and not a professional one?"

It wasn't the friendliest response she'd ever had, but since the only time he saw her was when she was about to ask him a favour, that wasn't surprising. She decided to get straight to the point. "Do you want the good news or the bad news?"

He looked faintly amused. "The bad news, I think."

"Umbridge has been flapping her trap in Hogsmeade. The whole school will know about our marriage by the end of the day."

"And the good news?" He didn't look as upset about the news as she'd expected; he seemed almost to have expected it.

"I bought you extra Cockroach Clusters." She rummaged in her satchel, and passed them to him. He settled himself comfortably in his chair, waved her to take a seat on the other, less comfortable chair, and took his time choosing a sweetie from the large paper bag.

"It's a disappointment, I admit. I had hoped that we would manage to keep this quiet till the end of the school year. Still," he said, chewing meditatively on a cockroach cluster, "looking on the bright side, it's your life they'll be making a misery, not mine. The teachers all knew anyway – Minerva really can't keep a secret - so they won't say anything to me they haven't said before, and the children wouldn't dare say anything about it to me."

He rummaged in the bag for another cluster, and then belatedly proffered it to her. "Cluster?"

She took one with bad grace; at least it wasn't a sherbert lemon.

"And there's no good glaring at me like that," he said. "I'm impervious. If mere looks had the power to affect me, I would doubtless be plucking literal rather than metaphorical daggers from my back, or would have burst into flames, certainly if the devout wishes of Mr Longbottom were to be granted."

"You really are impossible," she breathed, torn between amusement and irritation.

"Indeed." He'd managed to locate the largest cluster in the bag, to his evident satisfaction. "However, I would remind you, that you were the one who chose to marry me."

She just looked at him helplessly; it was, after all, the truth.

A/N:

I don't normally do this, even though I love reviews, because it would take up so much space to respond. However, a couple of people have asked some questions, and made some suggestions, so I thought I'd break with tradition.

Hp-lover-fifi – No, I'm not a blonde. I'm a redhead (fake). Severus is just blind to what's good for him at the moment.

Textualsphinx: it's not so much asking if it's also available in blue, as that being the inevitable and inexorable outcome. It's the only way to see things put 'right'. It will be a long time coming, but I hope it will be worth the wait.

WaterNaiad13: as the whole point of the story is that Hermione doesn't want to have children at this point in time, and that she doesn't want to be treated as a breeding machine rather than a human being, I don't think that her having a baby would be a good idea.

And for those who asked, no, there won't be the hawt sex for ages. Sorry and all that, but I'm trying to make this relatively believable.

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	13. In which there is some plot movement at...

There was a deputation waiting for Hermione when she got back to the Common Room: Lavender and her group of friends. "So, have you been to see him?" she asked. "Down in the dungeons." She managed to make that simple statement sound positively filthy. Her imagination had obviously been working overtime.

"I have been to see Severus, yes." She took a perverse pleasure in seeing them flinch at the use of his first name. They didn't need to know that she wouldn't dare use it to his face. "I thought he'd like to know who to blame for the spread of gossip round the castle."

There was a horrified silence as the implications of that sank in. Lavender found herself at the centre of a very large space, as everyone in the Common Room tried to distance themselves from her. Their body language was positively shouting, "Lavender? Who's she? Oh, that Lavender. Well, I do know her, but not that well. Isn't she a Ravenclaw or a Hufflepuff?"

"You went and dobbed me in to a teacher," said Lavender, desperately trying to recover some of her support. "You actually went grassed on me to Snape?"

"You know, trying to appeal to some sort of idea of student solidarity would go down so much better when you hadn't spent the last hour or so gossiping about me behind my back."

"But...but...but he's going to go spare," Lavender said, suddenly realising that she'd picked the worst possible target for her muck-raking.

"I think that's very likely." Hermione wasn't about to offer any comfort. Professor Snape hadn't given any indication that he was about to descend on the hapless Gryffindors like the Assyrian, but he could well change his mind before the next Potions Class especially once the rumour mills really started. All it would take would be one overheard comment to set him off.....

Hermione wondered if she was a bad person for hoping that Professor Snape would revert back to type and throw a wobbler of monumental proportions.

Professor Snape had been right when he'd said that it was Hermione that was going to suffer; suffer she did. The Gryffindors had backed off – more or less – following the little confrontation in the Common Room; they could see the writing on the wall and had decided that a low profile was the sensible course.

The Ravenclaws, although they liked to pretend they were above such things, liked gossip as much as the next person, and were just as keen to find out what on earth Hermione thought she was playing at. Their much-vaunted intelligence just meant that they were more subtle in the questions they asked, but better at making up all sorts of wild theories on the slimmest of evidence.

The Hufflepuffs kept out of her way, which had nothing to do with loyalty to a fellow student, and everything to do with a common sense approach to their own well being – Hermione was clearly a witch on edge.

The Slytherins were the worst though.

Most of them were disappointed that Voldemort had lost, and were in two minds on Snape's role in the war. Some thought he'd managed to save his skin by turning his coat at the last minute, and were mildly impressed at the way he'd pulled the wool over Dumbledore's eyes. Others, brighter than their fellows, could see that their Head of House had been instrumental in the downfall of Voldemort and had been playing a double role all along. A double role that had seen many members of their families dead or imprisoned.

Professor Snape wasn't a popular Head of House, but they weren't in any position to make this clear to him - always assuming that he could be persuaded to give a damn. His Mudblood wife on the other hand, was the perfect target for all their wit.

By the end of the first day after the disastrous trip to Hogsmeade, Hermione had threatened to hex the little sods fifteen times, with Harry and Ron coming close to her target. By the end of the third day, they were coming to wands drawn with anyone stupid enough to make a clever remark.

They had received the tacit approval of Professor McGonagall, who had come upon them in the middle of a pointed exchange of views, and merely deducted a point apiece from them, whilst giving detention to the unfortunate Crabbe and Goyle – once their ears had been re-attached – for a whole week. With Filch.

The Slytherins took this to mean that they were successfully getting under her skin, and redoubled their efforts to be irritating: she was being constantly questioned as to the quality and quantity of her sex life. Only Malfoy wasn't getting involved in the new sport of Hermione baiting; he'd been on the receiving end of a slap far too often to think there was any fun to be had with that, and was too busy thanking Merlin for his lucky escape.

Hermione thought that if she had been having a sex life, Snape would have been relegated to the couch by now, because his smirking face grinning at her across the Hall at mealtimes was doing nothing for her sense of humour.

Wanker.

In her more reasonable moments she realised that there really wasn't anything that he could do to make things better, and at least he wasn't sneaking up on them and taking away House Points for picking on his beloved Slytherins.

Unfortunately, her more reasonable moments were getting fewer and farther between.

Harry and Ron were in their element, escorting her between classes, and glaring at anyone who dared open their mouths in her presence; at last, it was their turn to protect Hermione, or at least stop her hexing anyone in full view of a teacher.

Matters came to a head one Thursday afternoon. Hermione's first Potions lesson after the news had broken loomed on the horizon, with all the attraction of a trip to Azkaban. She'd been decided to make her way down there early, in the hopes of slipping into the classroom early and avoiding the worst of the bullying.

The classroom was locked, and she was greeted by the smug smiles of Zabini and Parkinson and the slightly dimmer and more nervous grins of Crabbe and Goyle. "Ah, isn't it sweet," said Parkinson. "Did the little Mudblood come down early in the hopes of getting a little snog in before class."

"What a shame," Zabini added. "Professor Snape has been delayed, something about having to see the Headmaster. Still, I'm sure he'll make it up to you later, Granger, if you ask very nicely."

Hermione was preoccupied with worrying about why Professor Snape had been called to see Dumbledore again, and trying to reassure herself that it couldn't be about her, because she would have been asked along as well, though she knew that was a very thin thread to hang her hopes on.

"Oh, is she pining?" asked Pansy, in a saccharine-sweet voice. "Is she pining for her Snapey-wapey?"

There was a chorus of sniggers from the crowd beginning to gather.

"Don't be ridiculous," snapped Hermione.

"Oh don't tell me that the honeymoon is over already? I would have expected a little Mudblood slut to last a little longer. I mean you'd do anything to get a decent mark, and it's not as if he has a lot of choice is it?"

"Tell me," put in Millicent, "was he ... you know..." Her gesture left no doubt what she was asking.

"She wouldn't know," said Blaise. "I bet she had her eyes shut. I bet she was thinking of Harry or Ron, or even Neville, or did he wear a paper bag over his head? That way he wouldn't have to look at you either."

The crowd was growing even larger, with the late arrival of the rest of the Gryffindors who hadn't wanted to rush to Potions at all. Lavender was very firmly to the rear of the group, and had every intention of hiding at the back of the class.

"For your information," said Hermione in a distant tone of voice, "Severus was an extremely gifted lover."

You could have heard a pin drop; this wasn't a tack they had expected. Shock, horror, spluttering fury maybe, but a glowing report on the performance of their Head of House was unexpected and frankly unwelcome.

Harry and Ron exchanged significant glances and surreptitiously grasped their wands. The rest of the Gryffindors began easing themselves away from the action. They knew the signs, even if the Slytherins – apart from Draco - didn't; Hermione was seeing red and about to blow.

"For your further information," she continued, still sounding oddly detached. "I have neither been taken roughly against a dungeon wall, nor bent over the desk in the potions classroom. Both of us have been rather busy this week, but we were planning to get round to it some time next week. A timetable will be issued, with diagrams, for anyone who is interested."

Hermione was on a roll, and beginning to warm to her theme. "No, Pansy, I don't expect to see an improvement in my marks because we are shagging like nifflers. No, Blaise, Professor Snape did not come to bed with a paper bag on his head, nor did I need one, nor was a bucket necessary to throw up in afterwards as some of you have been kind enough to suggest.

"Millicent, if you want to know whether the Professor is hung like a donkey, I suggest you ask him personally. I doubt he would be interested in showing you, but you never know your luck.

"Gryffindors, I have been neither beaten, bruised, manhandled or chained to the bed. I'm not sure whether you are disappointed to hear that or not. Professor Snape has treated me with courtesy and kindness."

"However, I don't suppose for one moment that 'because he is getting laid on a regular basis', that this means he will be any less of a bastard in class."

Hermione was reaching the climax of her peroration: her voice was rising in both pitch and volume. "And one final matter, if any one of you insults my husband in my hearing again, they will be taking their ears home in a paper bag. Are we clear on this?" She glared at everyone in turn; many of them dropped their eyes at her challenge having suddenly recalled that Hermione's high marks weren't simply obtained for a theoretical approach to hexing.

Hermione was half-expecting Professor Snape to appear at this point, bearing in mind his usual facility for intruding on student squabbles at a most inopportune moment – from the Gryffindor point of view at least – and taking points away from the wronged parties, and allowing the Slytherin perpetrators to get away scot free.

It would be interesting to see whether marriage would alter this modus operandi, but she would prefer to make the experiment on another occasion.

She was fortunate. He didn't turn up for another five minutes, during which time the Slytherins and Gryffindors put aside their mutual hostility to join together in watching Hermione with all the suspicion of someone who, having lit the blue touch paper and retired, had seen the firework splutter out and was now in two minds as to whether they should nip back and re-apply the match. Was it really worth life and limb for a few sparks?

Professor Snape's arrival, no matter that he appeared to be in a foul mood, came as something of a relief. All he could do was wound with sarcasm – he wasn't allowed to hex his students – which made him a much safer bet than Hermione at the moment.

Though it was very much a case of being trapped between a rock and a hard place.

The door to the Potions classroom rocked on its hinges as the Professor flung it open. The children scuttled in, trying to make themselves invisible, or at least hide behind larger – or more obvious – targets for his wrath.

"Anyone not in their place within the next ten seconds will lose their House ten points," he snarled. "We've wasted quite enough of this lesson already."

Hermione slipped into her usual place, next to Neville, and threw him a reassuring look; she didn't dare speak.

Snape stood at the front of the classroom, arms folded, giving the students the sort of glare that would burn the varnish off the tables in seconds.

"Today, we will be making the Chattering Potion. Can anyone tell me what that Potion does?"

Hermione did not raise her hand. No one raised their hand. Lavender's gulp of terror was clearly audible throughout the classroom.

"Anybody? Not even the class know-it-all? Have you anything to say, Miss Granger?"

She knew it was coming, but flinched at the venom in his tone. "No, sir," she replied.

"How very disappointing," he sneered, driving home the message that nothing had changed in his classroom; there would be no easy ride for his wife. "Perhaps if all of you were to concentrate on your schoolwork, rather on foolish matters like trips to Hogsmeade, or talking to your fellows, and spent some of your precious time actually preparing for lessons, we would have better results?"

The Professor fixed each of the children in turn with a ferocious glare, until they dropped their eyes. "I see we understand each other."

The Professor moved to stand behind his lectern, and slowly leafed through the book – probably Moste Potente Potions, Hermione considered – until he found the necessary reference, and began reading aloud, "The Chattering Potion is so-called because it renders the imbiber wholly unable to stop talking. All thoughts, no matter how embarrassing or private, are vocalised. The Potions was one of the precursors to Veritaserum, and has many points of similarity to it."

The book was slammed shut, making the children jump; it was so silent – the students hardly dare breathe in case it attracted Professor Snape's attention - that the noise rang through the classroom. "You have forty-five minutes to produce an acceptable Potion. Points will be deducted from any student not managing to do so. Once you have finished, I shall select one of the feeble attempts you succeed in concocting, and administer it to a volunteer to assess its efficacy."

Lavender gulped again; it didn't take a genius to work out who was going to be the guinea pig.

"So you really had better take a great deal of care with your brewing today. Points will be deducted for poisoning the test subject."

There was a murmur from the Slytherin corner of the classroom. "Please, sir," said Zabini. "How long do the effects of the Potion last?" He threw a sideways glance at Lavender, who was nearly whimpering by now.

Professor Snape smiled; it was a smile of unparalleled nastiness, with a strong hint of the feline about it: one of the larger, stripy felines, who hang round in jungles, with very sharp teeth. "I'm so glad you asked me that Zabini. I'm pleased to see you taking an interest in your studies at last." Zabini broke out into a self-congratulatory smirk, that rapidly vanished as Snape said, "Since you are so interested, you shall be included in the experiment, along with Miss Brown; I shall expect the pair of you to produce a report on the effects of the Potion – I think ten feet will be sufficient."

Zabini was stunned. Professor Snape had never rounded on one of his own like that before.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Get on with it!"

The children bolted like sheep before the sheepdog, and milled around in front of the desk where the ingredients were laid out, casting anxious eyes on the Receipt written up on the blackboard. No one wanted to make a mistake, just in case the Professor decided to pick on someone else.

Brewing was conducted in near silence; only the popping of the flames under the cauldrons, and the bubbling of a boiling mixture punctuated the quiet. Neville was watching Hermione carefully, and copying her every move; she didn't dare speak to him, but he seemed to be doing well enough.

The pressure began to tell. A hiss told of a knife slipping in sweaty hands; a stifled sob was the only sign of a potion boiling for too long; a muffled whimper greeted a disastrous colour change; and all the time Professor Snape sat at the front, watching, and waiting with all the patience of a tiger waiting for just the right goat to amble past.

Hermione was very fond of Crookshanks, but he had a nasty habit of playing with his prey. He might be persuaded to drink milk and have his tummy rubbed from time to time but ultimately he was a predator; so was the Professor. Well Cockroach clusters worked as well as milk, but Hermione wondered quite what amounted to rubbing his tummy; she winced as several suggestions presented themselves.

Neville looked at her anxiously; did the wince mean she'd made a mistake. She shook her head; no, it was fine.

"Stop brewing. Time is up." There was a fusillade of clattering as instruments were put down, and flames extinguished.

"Now, let us see what you have achieved – and I use that word in its loosest sense." Professor Snape stalked between the rows of the desks, first staring at one offering, then another. Finally, as Hermione thought he would, he stopped before her and Neville. "Well, Mr Longbottom, that looks almost like a Chattering Potion to me. I suppose it will do." There was a flurry of robes as he turned away, then swung back suddenly, "And I think Miss Granger's potion as well." There was that smile again. "So, at least one of you will survive the experience."

Hermione felt mildly ashamed at the pulse of pleasure that flashed through her. Finally, after all these years, he was saying something nice about her work. She ducked her head to hide her sudden grin. It really wouldn't do to let him see that.

"So, Mr Zabini. Perhaps you'd like to choose? Miss Granger's potion or Mr Longbottom's?"

Zabini was bright enough not to smirk, and considered the matter carefully. "Granger's potion, sir."

"A very generous decision, offering Granger's potion to Miss Brown; quite the young gentleman."

Hermione thought that Zabini wasn't very bright if he hadn't seen that one coming. He was always going to end up with Neville's potion, because anything he babbled about was almost certainly going to lead to hexing and detentions and more aggravation for the Professor.

The Professor held out Neville's potion, and watched as Zabini took a deep breath, then gulped it down. He gasped, clutched at his throat, and turned a very delicate shade of green. "Oh dear, that seems to be a fail Mr Longbottom, though the interesting question is whether Mr Zabini survives the lesson."

Zabini made an odd, gurgling noise. "Please, sir. May I go and see Madam Pomfrey?"

"No, you may not," he replied curtly.

Snape spun on his heel, and loomed over a quivering Lavender, thrusting the phial of Chattering Potion into her shaking hand. "Well, Miss Brown; what are you waiting for? The lesson is almost over, and we wouldn't want to cut short your eloquence."

Her hand was shaking so much that a good portion of the liquid ended up spilling down her front; she swallowed the remaining potion and the class waited to see what would happen.

"Is there anything you'd care to share with the class Miss Brown?" Professor Snape asked.

"No, sir," she answered clearly struggling to keep her answer to a bare minimum. "Nothing."

"Is there anything," he said, leaning in for the kill, "that you wouldn't like to share with the class?"

Lavender's 'Oh, shit' came from the heart.

That class watched – some amused, some horrified, and some grateful to be spared- as Lavender began to tell them all of those little guilty secrets that people keep to themselves to keep the peace and avoid embarrassment.

Professor Snape watched with cool amusement as she babbled of Ron's cute arse; and how she was so hairy that she had to cast the cast the charm to depilate her legs twice; how she'd snogged Seamus when she was going out with Dean; how she wondered what it would be like to snog Harry; how she wondered whether it was true about nose size, and God wasn't Hermione a lucky bitch if it was........

At that point Lavender had the sense to slap her hands over her mouth to reduce her ramblings to an indistinct mumble.

"How odd," said Professor Snap, ignoring the comment about noses apart from a faint flush to his cheek. "The Chattering Potion is supposed to reduce the person who drinks it to a babbling idiot. And yet, I see no difference." He turned to Hermione and barked out, "Stay after class Miss Granger and we will discuss your defective potion. The rest of you – get out!"

No one needed to be told twice; there was a stampede for the door, conducted in silent desperation. Only later, when they were safely out of his presence, would they sit round with the air of connoisseurs and examine the day's events and decide that it was pretty much unparalleled viciousness on the part of Snape and quietly decide to shelve any further discussion of his – and Hermione's – sex life.

Only Harry and Ron lagged behind, until Hermione hissed at them to take Lavender somewhere quiet and not ask her any questions.

Harry looked worried. "Are you sure?"

Hermione nodded, very much aware of Professor Snape watching them from the front of the classroom. "I'll be fine. Now, go on."

Barely thirty seconds later and the classroom was empty, Lavender having been escorted out by Harry and Ron, whose voice could clearly be heard asking her whether she meant it about his arse being cute.

Hermione faced her husband, absolutely determined to ensure that her marks for the class weren't going to suffer just so he could make a cheap jibe at the expense of a student. "About my potion," she began, to his evident amusement.

"How very predictable you are Miss Granger. There really are more important things in life than your academic achievements, you know."

"That's easy for you to say," she mumbled.

"Don't worry. Albus is going to double check all your marks from now on; I suspect you'll be seeing an improvement in your results as he's notoriously, and deplorably, generous about these things."

Hermione felt mildly aggrieved at that. It wasn't as if she needed the help, thank you very much.

"However, that wasn't why I asked you to stay behind."

"Oh." Hermione braced herself for bad news.

"No doubt, gossip being what it is at Hogwarts, you are aware that I was summoned to the Headmaster's office?"

Hermione nodded.

"It seems that the Governors – at the instigation of Lucius I suspect– have decided that, in view of my bravery in working against Lord Voldemort, I should be allowed the luxury of sharing my quarters with my young wife."

"Oh fuck," said Hermione, sitting down abruptly.

"My sentiments exactly," he said. "Though I did expect you to be more enthusiastic about the news, bearing in mind the exciting timetable of events you appear to have mapped out for us."

"You heard." It wasn't a question.

"Miss Granger," he said, with exaggerated patience, "I expect the whole castle heard. You have a particularly penetrating voice."

"I thought that providing details would work, where a straight denial just encouraged them to make things up. I don't think anyone believed me," Hermione said cautiously. "And, well, I lost my temper."

"So I gather."

"Anyone would think you were some kind of slavering pervert hanging who got his jollies out of giving people detention and watching their arses twitch as they cleaned cauldrons. Which is frankly ridiculous. It's not as if you even like any of your students, let alone want to shag them, and if anyone's like that it's Filch." Hermione decided to stop digging; the hole was deep enough already.

Snape pinched his nose between his fingers. "And what exactly will your little out burst do to correct this?"

"Erm, well, the offer to hex their ears off might help," Hermione suggested weakly.

Professor Snape sighed. "At least you're bloody allowed to," he said bitterly. "Albus has been most insistent that the students leave my lessons with the same number of appendages as when they came in. Bastard. Ahem. Be that as it may, the house elves are now clearing the second bedroom in my quarters preparatory to you moving in."

"That's not too bad," she said in relief. "With separate bedrooms you'll hardly know I'm there."

"Indeed," he said dryly. ""I suggest you make the most of your last night of freedom because, from tomorrow night, Mrs Snape, I shall expect you to comport yourself properly. There will be no visitors to our quarters at any time, you may not help yourself to my books, and you will not move anything, and there will be no excessive noise. I imagine you will be spending a great deal of time in the library, as usual, which will no doubt manage to set the minds of your peers at rest over the nature of our relationship. No one could manage to schedule that much wild sex and maintain your workload."

"I couldn't give a damn what they think," she said firmly. "I just don't want to be a nuisance."

"It's a little late for that Miss Granger. It's a little late for that."

Hermione grinned. "I know, but you did bring it on yourself."

He glared at her, but it was half-hearted at best. On the whole, Hermione thought, they were getting on quite well – apart from the not reading his books thing, which was annoying – though it had to be admitted the honeymoon was over.

And, it did mean he was more likely to help her overturn the law, now that he had more of an incentive. All in all, Hermione thought it was going splendidly.

Now they just had to learn to live with each other without committing murder.

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	14. In which sex and Lucius rear their ugly ...

There were times it was a blessing being a witch, and packing was one of them. It was always much simpler packing to leave Hogwarts at the end of a term, than packing to go back when she couldn't use magic. Now all she had to do was wave a wand, cast a few charms, and her belongings would make their way into her trunk, to be taken down to Professor Snape's rooms.

Their rooms, now, she supposed, though she didn't think he'd appreciate having that pointed out to him one little bit; his rooms and her room, was more like it. She wondered if he expected her to trek all the way to the Prefect's bathroom to perform her ablutions, which lead her on to the thought that they would be sharing a loo at least which was just horrid.

She resolved never to widdle again. Not in Snape's loo anyway.

Her room looked very empty and forlorn once the books and other paraphernalia were stripped from it. Crookshanks was sitting on the middle of her bed, watching her movements with interest, just in case some food was involved in whatever she was doing. "Poor Crooks," she said, gathering him into her arms and burying her face in his fur. "You're going to have to make a real effort to be good for me you know. I don't think Professor Snape likes cats. I don't think he likes anything much, apart from Cockroach Clusters, annoying people, and occasionally Minerva. Maybe we can get her to put in a good word for you, if he's awkward."

She sighed. Best to get it over and done with, really.

She cast the Levitation charm and headed off to her new quarters, with her trunk gently bobbing along behind and Crookshanks tucked under her arm.

The door to his quarters was enormous, of the blackest oak, and was obviously designed to be as forbidding as possible. She put down Crookshanks, who twined round her feet in an attempt to comfort her. She released the charm on her trunk, straightening her robes, and nervously smoothing down her hair, until she was sure she looked neat and tidy. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Her knock was tentative, but Professor Snape heard it. The door opened to reveal a lovely, cosy sitting-room with a blazing fire, and enormous bookshelves that made her mouth water at the thought of all the new books they contained. He may have said she couldn't read them, but he couldn't stop her looking at the titles, and searching out her own copies.

"Well come in, Miss Granger before all the heat escapes," the Professor said.

Crookshanks didn't need a second invitation, and streaked past to settle himself by the fire earning him a glare from Professor Snape but no comments.

"It's a lovely room," she said a little wistfully, expecting to see very little of it.

"I spend Tuesday evenings doing my rounds, and Thursday evenings are often spent discussing school matters with Professor McGonagall, so you may use the room then, provided you don't make a mess." Professor Snape was obviously making a supreme effort to be civil, and Hermione began to feel more cheerful. So what if the boys weren't allowed to visit? They hadn't been allowed in her old bedroom, and there was nothing to prevent her hanging round the Common Room just as before.

The new and surprisingly-civil Professor Snape, made her jump when he levitated her trunk into the sitting room, and on, through an open door. "That's your room," he said a little stiffly. "I hope you'll find it to be acceptable."

It was more than acceptable. Her new room was actually larger than her previous bedroom, and there was much more shelf space which meant she could buy more books! Admittedly there was something of a green theme about the furnishings, but that was trivial. "It's wonderful," she said warmly, and he seemed to thaw a little at that.

"I'll leave you to it," he said. "I'm sure you've got lots of books to unpack."

"Just a few," she said, and smiled at him. He almost smiled back, Hermione was sure of it.

Hermione checked back on Crookshanks every once in a while to see that he wasn't getting up to mischief. There was never a moment when Crookshanks was obviously moving towards Professor Snape, but by the time Hermione finally emerged from her room a couple of hours later, Crookshanks had insinuated himself under the Professor's hand which was absent-mindedly moving backwards and forwards. Crookshanks was wearing the smuggest expression she'd ever seen, and it was all she could do not to laugh out loud.

It was the most appalling display of creeping that she'd ever seen outside of Malfoy in a Potion's classroom, but it certainly worked as the expected argument over Crookshanks living with her never materialised, though that didn't stop Professor Snape from periodically complaining about her cat.

Hermione was as good as her word, at least to start with. She spent the first week or so working out what Severus' routine was – she couldn't call him Professor Snape in her head when she was living with him – and played least in sight.

Predictably, if perversely, that annoyed Severus as much as if she had been constantly underfoot; he felt cheated of his right to whinge about the situation. She suspected he actually liked complaining about things; she'd never known someone so disgruntled with everything in their life.

Hermione thought his middle name was probably Perversity. Some people called their children Faith, or Hope or Charity in the belief they would come to embody those virtues. Hermione suspected that Severus' mother had taken one look at him and just known: Severus Perversity Snape.

The only embarrassing moment – embarrassing didn't come close to describing the sheer heart-stopping mortification of the incident – came when she'd got up early one morning and found Severus in the sitting room still in his night attire and without his dressing gown. All she could do was stand there and stare at him, as her brain registered that he wore a nightie. Severus Snape wore a nightie.

He looked up, saw her, and flushed. She stammered some apology and disappeared back into her room, and stuffed her head under her pillow so he wouldn't hear her hysterical laughter. Severus Snape wore a nightie, and she'd seen his legs: long, white, pasty-looking stick-like legs that stuck out beneath the hem of his grey nightie.

It took her fully fifteen minutes to recover, and she never saw Severus – he was very definitely a Severus now – without his dressing gown again. The experience seemed to have given her brain an odd form of hiccoughs. Every once in a while, whether in Potions or at meal times, or when bumping into him in their rooms, her brain would hiccough and all she could think was 'Severus wears a nightie' and 'God that must be chilly'.

She never mentioned it to the boys though; no amount of Cockroach Clusters would make up for letting that particular cat out of the bag. Prudence dictated silence.

As time passed, they settled into a routine, and if the hoped-for conversations in front of the fire hadn't materialised, at least there was a truce of sorts, and civil exchanges when their paths crossed.

She hadn't summoned up the courage to take him up on his offer to use the sitting room until now but the Common Room was particularly noisy this evening, and she needed some time to herself so she could actually concentrate on her homework, which was due in only three weeks time!

She slipped away without saying goodnight to anyone. She didn't want to draw attention to the fact that she was about to spend the evening in her married quarters, even in the absence of her husband.

Severus, true to his newly bestowed middle name, was not ensconced with Minerva comfortably chatting, but was occupying the centre of the living room. He was holding a large, expensively wrapped parcel, which he was eyeing with suspicion.

"What's that?" she asked, fully expecting to be told to mind her own business.

The look he gave her was sour, but it seemed to be general annoyance with the world, rather than specific annoyance at her. "It's your wedding present from Lucius. It seems he thinks that arranging for you to share my quarters is present enough for me, but that he feels the need to be particularly generous in your case, to show that there are no hard feelings over your rejection of the Malfoy name."

Hermione gave a little spurt of laughter. "So he's still sulking about that then?"

"So it would appear." Severus cleared a space amongst the papers piled high on the table, and prodded at the parcel with his wand. "There don't seem to be any nasty surprises lurking there, so it's probably safe to open it."

Hermione looked doubtful. "I wonder what it is?"

Severus looked at the tag attached to the present. "It says something about preparing you for your new role in life."

"Well now I'm intrigued. The Pureblood Guide to Etiquette perhaps? Or, Knowing Your Place?"

Severus surrendered the parcel reluctantly. "Lucius isn't usually that obvious."

The parcel was well wrapped, and it took Hermione several minutes to battle her way through the bindings to find a book. Curious, she pushed the papers aside to read the spine. "Good god," she said. "Unbelievable. The man is absolutely unbelievable."

She stuffed the back of her hand in her mouth, and her shoulders began to shake. Severus picked the book up to see what it was – Hermione was in no fit condition to tell him – and blushed. He was horrified to see that Lucius had sent a book on Sex Magic for Beginners, and even more horrified to realise that Hermione wasn't shocked or disgusted but was giggling.

Giggling.

Couldn't she take anything seriously?

Hermione found the book funny enough on its own, but coupled with Severus' outraged prudery it was irresistibly hilarious. The more she laughed, the more shocked he looked, and the more shocked he looked, the more she laughed, until she was practically doubled over with tears running down her face.

"I suppose it's too much to expect you to behave with a little decorum?" he said huffily.

Hermione made a determined effort to stop laughing, before Severus blew a gasket. She wiped her eyes, and told herself very firmly to get a grip. "I'm sorry," she gasped, "But surely you can see the funny side?"

Apparently he couldn't. She tried again. "At least it wasn't Sarah does Slytherin, or are the Muggleborn Chronicles too lowbrow for Lucius?"

The Muggleborn Chronicles – Rachel does Ravenclaw, Helen does Hufflepuff, Georgina does Gryffindor, and Sarah does Slytherin – were the basic sexual education of a Hogwarts Student. Sarah does Slytherin was the most popular of the four, having a – largely undeserved, in Hermione's opinion, who'd actually done the comparison – reputation for being extra-kinky.

Slytherin always had the reputation for being sexually adventurous, so it was disconcerting to realise that Severus was appalled that she was even aware of the books, let alone read them. She'd always thought of him as more worldly somehow. He'd been a Death Eater; Death Eaters did not blush at the mention at the mention of fairly anodyne erotica. Severus, it seemed, was something of a prude, at least as far as his wife was concerned; whether this prudery extended to not reading them himself was another matter

"What on earth were you doing reading that … that filth?" he spluttered.

"Confiscating them of course," she replied. "And handing them over to the first teacher I found." That was strictly true; she was just omitting the intermediate step of reading them from cover to cover first, and preparing a table to compare them to see which of the four books was the kinkiest. Severus really didn't need to know about that.

Severus humphed, not entirely convinced, but happy to let the matter drop and returned to the issue at hand. "Nonetheless, I fail to see the humour in Lucius suggesting that my wife is some kind of cheap floozy."

"Actually, I think he's suggesting the opposite. Surely a cheap floozy would already know about That Sort of Thing."

Severus gave her a long cool, gaze, clearly unimpressed by her argument.

Hermione didn't point out that she was the one who'd been insulted, and so it was none of his business anyway, because she was fairly certain that Lucius was chiefly trying to annoy Severus and not her. Taking that tack would be likely to explode in her face at a later date. She wouldn't put it past him to refuse to help her next time she wanted something, on the basis that that too was 'her business'. She couldn't afford to keep buying him Cockroach Clusters by the half pound, just to sweeten him up.

Anyway, there was no need to let Lucius get away with it. If she ever needed to negotiate with him later, it would never do to let him think that she was stupid.

"Of course," she said, "I don't really understand the etiquette that governs these situations, but surely it would only be polite to send Lucius a little Thank You note. I wouldn't want to inadvertently insult him, so perhaps you could make a few suggestions as to what I could say. Perhaps even draft a letter for me?"

Severus smirked at that. "It's the least I can do," he said, and promptly sat down at his desk, and pulled a piece of parchment out from under Crookshanks, and charged his quill with ink.

"'Dear Lucius,'" he began. "That will get right up his aristocratic nose, a mere Muggleborn calling him by his first name."

Severus was so busy polishing his invective that he didn't notice Hermione casually drop her satchel on top of the book, scratch Crookshank's behind the ear, and then scoop both book and satchel into her arms. "I'll just put this in my room, out of your way," she said, and slipped away before he caught on.

She took the time to change out of her school uniform, into some loose Muggle trousers and a T-shirt. Severus didn't like seeing her looking like his student once school was finished for the day; there was always a faint unbending in his demeanour when she'd changed, as if she'd moved from Miss Granger to Mrs Snape in his mind, and could now be acknowledged as a human being rather than a nuisance.

Severus was looking very self-satisfied on the sofa by the time she returned. He held out the finished letter for her to read, and it was a masterpiece of snide invective.

Dear Lucius,

I would write to thank you for my wedding present, but I believe I have rather more to thank you for than that. I feel sure that it was you who put pressure on Dumbledore to allow me to live with my husband, which is very generous of you indeed bearing in mind our past history.

There aren't many men who would be so generous to someone who had rejected an offer of marriage for their son, particularly when we were on opposing sides during the War. I am really rather touched to see that you have come to recognise the error of your ways, and are so willing to be on good terms with a Muggleborn.

Yours sincerely,

Etc.

Hermione grinned. "Now that's what I call nasty. It's not subtle, but it is effective."

Severus smirked back at her, for once in perfect agreement. "I can't tell you how wonderful it was to be brutally rude for once, rather than having to skate round the issue. The hatchet is almost as much fun as the stiletto."

"If I copy it out now, we can send it by Owl straight away. It's rather amusing to think of Lucius opening his post over breakfast, and reading this." Hermione took a seat at the table and began to write. It was only when she reached the end that she hesitated. What signature should she use? Hermione Snape?

She doubted that Lucius Malfoy would appreciate the subtleties of Ms Granger, and Severus would object to Granger-Snape (or would that be Snape-Granger?), and Miss Granger would send entirely the wrong message. There was nothing for it then, Hermione Snape it had to be. It would be the first time of writing that, and it felt ominous; it recognised as real something that she was trying to pretend didn't exist.

She signed the letter with a flourish, adding Order of Merlin (First Class) to her name. There was nothing like rubbing salt in the wound. "There," she said. "All done."

"If you give it to me, I'll go and take it up to the Owlery. It's way past Curfew; if you went I'd have to deduct points." Hermione folded the letter carefully, and slipped it into an envelope. Severus eyed it critically, and then melted a thin bar of red wax in the candle, dripping hot wax onto the letter. He tapped it with his wand, muttered something under his breath, and the puddle of wax rippled, forming into a seal with the simple legend 'Snape'. "Much better," he said approvingly. "These things should be done properly."

"I've never seen a letter sealed like that before," Hermione commented.

Severus paused in the act of tucking it into his coat pocket. "You wouldn't have done," he said, sounding a little wary. "It's an affectation of some Pureblood families to use them. It's a mite pretentious really, but I thought it sensible to remind Lucius that my family is just as old as his, even if it isn't as wealthy."

"Not to mention asserting a claim over your property?" she asked mildly. "Isn't that what the protection of your name means? It's not that I'm complaining; I did ask for that protection after all. And I know you don't think of me like that, and that's all that's important but still…." She foundered, lost for words for once.

"Using my seal sends quite the reverse message," he said. "It's telling Lucius that I expect him to treat you like my wife, not a possession, with all the respect and courtesy that that entails."

"Will it make any difference?" she asked.

"Not a great deal. Not about how he really thinks, but it does mean that he'll keep his obnoxious opinions to himself, because if he doesn't I'm obliged to shove them back down his throat at wand point. Lucius has never liked getting his hands dirty, not like that anyway."

"Thank you," she said softly, resting a hand on his sleeve. "You're very kind to me."

Severus looked horrified for a moment, before recovering his usual stony demeanour, and then disappearing to the Owlery in a flurry of robes. Hermione stared at the door for a long while after he'd left. It was clear that Severus was unused to thanks, and for some reason that annoyed her. It annoyed her immensely. No wonder he insisted on a quid pro quo for everything he did. Harry had never said thank you for his help, though she couldn't think of anything that would annoy him more. Dumbledore continued to treat him like his pet skivvy, and of the people he worked with, only Minerva and Poppy seemed to have any real affection for him.

Well that was going to change, whether Severus liked it or not. Obviously coming out into the open and saying 'let's be friends' was going to lead to nothing more than a sneer and him avoiding her as much as possible, so she'd have to be a little less obvious. Crookshanks, sensing her worry, twined himself affectionately round her ankles. She picked him up and buried her nose in his fur. "Hello there. You've given me an idea Crooks. You know how to handle him don't you? I'll just take a leaf out of your book and sneak up on him."

When he hadn't reappeared after half an hour, she assumed he'd decided to avoid her and had gone to see Minerva as usual. So she left a bar of chocolate out on the table, with a note saying that she wondered if he'd like to try some Muggle sweets, and headed off to do her homework.

She didn't hear him come in, but in the morning the Chocolate was gone.


	15. In which plans are made and books are lo...

Hermione had been so busy sorting out her marriage and settling into her quarters, that she'd really not been concentrating on overturning the Marriage Law. Truth to tell, she hadn't got the faintest idea what to do about it. It was all very well to talk about campaigns and protests and chaining herself to the Ministry steps but she was still a schoolgirl. How likely was it that anyone would listen to her? Nor was she filled with confidence that her career as a political agitator was going to be any more successful this time round; her attempts to get people to take an interest in the plight of the House Elves hadn't been that successful.

She couldn't see Dumbledore being supportive either. He would doubtless have something to say about any overt campaign; he could even expel her, if she did anything too outrageous. Still, it wasn't in her nature to sit there and wait for others to sort things out. Something had to be done, which meant she was the Someone to do the Something.

There was a solid hour between the end of classes and dinner, and Severus wasn't in his quarters, which meant she would have a bit of peace and quiet in which to think. She felt mildly guilty about sitting at his desk and using his quill, but it was uncomfortable to write anything longer than a quick note when sprawled over the bed.

She drew a piece of parchment to her, and began organising her thoughts.

The Marriage contract. Poppy had said something about her sister finding out more about what it involved. Perhaps there would be something useful about it in the book Lucius sent.

To Do: See Poppy. Read Sex Magick for Beginners.

It was nice to have a legitimate reason to read the book. Not that there was anything wrong with being interested in sex, but at least now, if Severus found her reading the damned thing, she had her excuse all ready and prepared.

Contraception potions. More research needed on which ones might be possible to slip past the Ministry. What about Muggle contraceptives, especially barrier methods that left no residue in the body? How could they be distributed?

To Do: talk to Severus.

She noted mentally not to attempt any discussions on a Tuesday as he was always in especially bad moods then. It would probably be best to leave any chat until at least ten minutes of Crookshanks creeping, and probably the offer of Cockroach Clusters. She would have to remember to buy a stock in next weekend, although it might be worthwhile investigating whether Honeydukes did Owl Order bearing in mind the number of favours she would be asking for.

Politics. Review history notes for anything useful. Legal books in library? Was there some other loophole that she could find to help others? Fudge has another three years in office, before re-election, is there something that can be done to speed this up? Vote of no confidence?

To do: research (obviously) and investigate the members of the Wizengamot. Were they Pureblood or Muggleborn, and had they supported Voldemort. Talk to Severus.

Who'd been caught by the Law so far? Not seen notices in Daily Prophet. Didn't mean there hadn't been marriages. Perhaps Poppy could find out through her sister, or maybe Ron could find something out through Percy. What about other students? What do they think? Is anyone else thinking of trying to get the damned law overturned. She couldn't be the only one that thought it was slavery by any other name. The Wizarding World may be backwards, but it wasn't inhumane.

To Do: Talk to Poppy and Ron / Percy. Compile list of Muggleborns in her year and a couple of years above (Library?) and contact them about the Law. Harry and Ron could help with that.

What the _fuck_ did Fudge think he was up to? Obviously he thought there was some political advantage in what he was doing. Did he really believe it was necessary to save the Wizarding World or was there some other reason for what he was doing. Was there some research that actually showed Purebloods were inbred or was it just cobblers.

To Do: Talk to Poppy. Buy Muggle books on genetics – Mum and Dad could get them. Wonder if any of the Muggleborns have parents that are doctors or scientists.

She rubbed at the small of her back absent-mindedly, bending over the desk had given her backache, but it was worth it. She was pleased with her efforts: there was enough to be going on with that she would feel she was doing something, but nothing that was going to get her into trouble. She could use her time left at the school profitably, and then, once free of the Old Fart's control, she could put everything into motion.

That was the secret of successful planning: break things down into manageable portions, do them one at a time, and then, before you knew it, the impossible task had become a series of difficult tasks.

She wondered whether Voldemort had had a to do list: Tuesday – suborn the Ministry; Wednesday – kill Potter; Thursday – eliminate Muggleborn scum; Friday – after-coup party. Had someone explained all about management techniques to him? Sorry Voldy you can't go straight to killing Potter, you've got to break it all down in to easy steps, it makes it all easier.

Mind you, he didn't have to fit his plans for world domination in round his bloody homework, did he? Couldn't she just arrange for Fudge to be poisoned so she could get on with her Newts?

Bastard.

The rumbling of her stomach reminded her that it was time for dinner, and that she was going to be late if she didn't hurry. She scrabbled her papers together, dropped them onto her bed to sort out later, and scurried off.

She was mildly surprised to find Lavender sitting next to Ron at the table. That was usually Harry's spot. He'd been relegated to a seat over the table, and just a little down from them. Hermione slipped into the seat next to Harry and started helping herself to the roast potatoes. She smiled a little at the thought of her parents, who would deplore her appalling manners, but at Hogwarts it was the quick and the starving. If you didn't get your spoon in the trough first, then you might go short, especially if you weren't one of the house elves' favourites. Somehow her polite requests for seconds always seemed to get forgotten about.

She would never understand them, never. She was grateful for the fact that they were near invisible, because these days she found herself almost hating them for their revolting eagerness to be enslaved. Is this what muggleborn witches would be reduced to in fifty years if the law wasn't overturned? Calling their husbands master, and being pathetically grateful if their owners gave them a kind word or two.

And would she be Dobby or Kreacher?

The potato lodged in her throat, and she swallowed with difficulty. Reaching for a glass of water, she caught Ron watching her with a worried expression. She was about to reassure him that she was fine really, and not to worry about her, when he said, "Erm, Hermione, I was wondering….."

"Yes, Ron?" she replied. That last time she'd seen Ron look like that he'd been just about to tell her that he'd spilled pumpkin juice on the notes he had borrowed from her. Harry was very, very busy eating his dinner, and hadn't looked up when Ron spoke. Something was very clearly up, and that something involved Lavender.

"Well, you know that erm well you remember when Snape…"

Hermione interrupted. "Professor Snape." Really, was that so hard to remember?

Ron gave her an irritated look. "Well you remember when Professor Snape gave Lavender that Chattering Potion?"

She nodded. Of course she remembered it. She remembered it in loving detail.

"Well, I … erm … we … erm … we sort of got talking after the class and I asked her whether she thought my arse really was cute and she was still under the influence of the potion and she had to tell me what she thought, and she did, and well one thing led to another and … erm … well … I asked her out and she said yes." Ron was looking at her with anxious, puppy eyes, hoping to avoid being kicked.

"So you and Lavender are an item now?" Hermione said.

Harry's concentrated consumption of his meal paused briefly. He hated arguments between Hermione and Ron, and tended to keep out of them as much as possible, worried that one day he'd be forced to choose between them.

"Er, yes," Ron replied cautiously.

"Why on earth didn't you tell me?" she said in exasperation.

Ron bridled. "It's none of you business who I go out with."

"Exactly," Hermione snapped. "What did you think I was going to do? Stamp my foot and forbid you to do it?"

Lavender looked shamefaced. It appeared that she at least had expected Hermione to do precisely that. Ron opened and shut his mouth several times, before finally realising that she wasn't upset about his choice of girlfriend, just that he'd been keeping secrets from her. Grinning, he said, "Nah, but you'd have given me that look, you know, the one my Mum gives me when I've done something she disapproves of."

Hermione gave him a mock glare before smiling. "I am nothing like your mother."

Harry appeared to choke on his dinner but offered no other opinion.

"Anyway," Ron continued blithely, determined to jump into the fire after successfully escaping the frying pan. "I though it might be a good idea to let you calm down a bit first before we told you."

"Did you?" Hermione said frostily. She didn't like the implication that she had been in some way unreasonable in being annoyed at having the whole school take an interest in her life.

Lavender reached out and patted Ron's hand. "What Ron is trying to say, is that it would be rubbing your nose in things a bit to tell you when you'd just moved in with Professor Snape."

Ron was looking at Hermione with so much hope that things that would be alright that she hadn't the heart to say anything, though hot words trembled on her lips. Lavender took her silence as encouragement, and her courage in her hands, and said, "I am sorry that you ended up having to live with him. I didn't think that a bit of harmless gossip would lead to that, or I would have kept my mouth shut."

There was a first time for everything then, Hermione thought sourly. "It's not your fault the law has been passed," she said, "Or that the Ministry are a bunch of reactionary pigs. It's just next time, and there will be a next time, try and think about the consequences will you? This is going to get bloody before it's over, and all it'll take is one slip and I'm going to be in real trouble. This time it's living with Professor Snape, next time it might be Azkaban."

Ron snorted. "There isn't that much difference, if you ask me."

Hermione threw a bread roll at him, which he ducked easily. "I've told you before Ronald Weasley. Only I get to insult Professor Snape."

Ron let out a huge sigh of relief at having negotiated the peace settlement, and began talking about – of course – Quidditch. Lavender looked thoughtful and seemed to taking the warning seriously, and Hermione could only hope that Lavender would master the art of being discreet. The tentative truce was accepted with a glance of sympathy from Hermione, and an answering roll of the eyes from Lavender, before she turned all her attention on Ron.

Hermione watched them surreptitiously for a few minutes. Ron clearly blossomed under Lavender's interest: she was even asking sensible questions about Quidditch that had to be illustrated with condiments.

They seemed contented together, which filled her with a spark of envy. It was all so bloody unfair that they could have what was denied to her. It made her wonder if there was such a thing as fate, guiding couples together. Which was just silly; it was Snape that had brought them together, and he definitely wasn't the hand of fate, or worse, Cupid. Cupid Snape. How he would hate that.

Obviously, she'd have to tell him all about it.

Up on the High Table, Severus was surprised to see his young wife smiling broadly up at him, and he smiled faintly in return before remembering that this was entirely inappropriate. Hermione's gaze seemed to soften into something approaching affection, before Ron said something that took her attention back to the table.

"I'm glad to see that you and Mrs Snape being so friendly," Minerva said, having observed the interaction with interest.

Severus frowned, causing his Slytherins to feel mildly guilty, wondering which of their wrongdoings he had discovered. "We're not friends," he objected, horrified at the notion. "Miss Granger and I have achieved a form of détente, nothing more."

"But you could be," Minerva replied. "The poor thing needs more than détente to get her through these difficult times. She's always had a tendency to take on too much, and I can't imagine she'll be letting her schoolwork slip merely because she's planning a revolution."

"She has her two friends to turn to for help. If anyone is experiencing difficult times, Minerva, it is me."

"It can't be that bad," Minerva scoffed. "Hermione is a very sensible girl."

"I grant you she isn't under foot quite as much as I had expected."

"Oh Severus, you disappoint me."

"Don't you oh Severus me," he said with some bitterness. "What do you expect me to do? Take afternoon tea with her every Sunday and talk about how her week has gone."

"That's exactly what I expect you to do," Minerva replied forcefully.

"She is still a student, may I remind you. That would be entirely inappropriate."

"Don't be a goose, Severus. The circumstances are already beyond appropriate. I don't see how your treating your wife as a human being can actually make things worse," Minreva said robustly. "I don't mean that you shouldn't have married her, you did the right thing there," she waved away his protests before he had a chance to object. "I mean that, given you're married, you may as well make the best of it. Yes, she's young, which is why she needs all the help she can get."

"I can't be seen to favour her," he said stubbornly. "How would I keep discipline?"

Minerva's hand was tapping irritably on the table top. "I fail to understand why you should be so worried about the proprieties when you've spent your entire teaching career favouring your Slytherins in the most obvious way imaginable. Would it help if you were to think of her as an honorary Slytherin?"

Severus ignored the dig about his treatment of his House; she was just as bad about her Gryffindors, or Harry Potter would have been out on his arse within the first two weeks of his Hogwarts career. God knew, he'd suggested it to Albus often enough.

He couldn't help feeling that there was something horrible and wrong about living with a student, even with the faint patina of respectability created by their Marriage. Still, Minerva was the sternest critic he knew, and if she thought it was not only proper but desirable that he should spend more time with his wife, then he probably ought to. If only to stop the constant nagging that would be directed at him until he gave in. In small doses she was almost bearable. "I suppose I could use it as an excuse to get out of taking detentions," he mused, throwing a mildly irritable glance at Flitwick who was notorious for using his family obligations to get out of doing anything he didn't want to.

"That's my boy," said Minerva fondly.

Hermione made her excuses after dinner finished. She would rather spend her evening tucked away in her tiny bedroom than be forced to watch another minute of Ron and Lavender being sweet together.

She was fine about it, really, but she just needed a bit of time for all of her to come to terms with just how fine she was about it, which was a process best conducted in the calm of her own room.

She felt an immense sense of relief when she crossed the threshold to their quarters. She still pined for the Head Girl's room occasionally, but the loss of space in which to spread herself was offset by the advantage of privacy.

Hermione may have been a compulsive list maker, but that organisation didn't spill over into the rest of her life. She was naturally untidy. There was too much to do to spend time picking things up and why put something away when you were bound to need it again soon. Besides, just because her notes were in heaps on the floor it didn't mean that there wasn't a place for everything, and everything its place.

She knew where everything was, it was just that no one else did.

This tendency to sprawl and expand into all available space did mean that her new room felt a little cramped and confined, but at least she was spared the constant stream of visitors coming to her with academic queries, and demands that she sort out their lives for them. For some reason, people felt wholly unable to make the extra journey down to the dungeons to see her. Bearing in mind the stupidity of the questions she used to be asked, it was surprising that the school had managed to survive her exile. Perhaps some of them had developed a backbone?

She eyed the blazing fire wistfully, but Severus was sitting at his desk busily marking, parchment swathed with acidic comments in red ink. She was destined for an evening in her room then.

Severus put down his quill and cocked an eyebrow at her. "I though you'd be in the Common Room…"

"I didn't feel like it tonight," she replied.

"Too noisy?"

"You might say that. I certainly didn't fancy listening to Ron and Lavender telling each other how wonderful they were."

"Love's young dream getting on your nerves?" he asked sympathetically, mindful of Minerva's instructions.

"Just a bit." The sense of injustice that had been bubbling away since she'd heard the news, prompted her to honesty. She could tell Severus what she really felt. He wouldn't make her guilty about being mean spirited and selfish, or tell her that she was being a bad friend. "It's barely a couple of months since he was offering to marry me, and telling me we were meant to be together, and then he takes up with her of all people."

"And you feel slighted?" asked the man who knew all there was to know about that.

"Bloody right I do." She was aware she sounded sulky, but damn it, she felt sulky.

"Seventeen year old boys are hardly known for their good taste or constancy."

"Still," she said. "He should have waited a bit longer. Until next term at least."

"I'm sure if you wanted him back all you'd have to do is snap your fingers and he'd come running. I must ask you not to do that though, as I really couldn't bear to see my wife being slobbered over by Young Weasley."

Hermione smiled faintly at that but she looked tired and dispirited. Ron's defection had hit her disproportionately hard. He didn't generally look at his pupils, other than to make sure they weren't up to something, but Minerva's comments had pricked – or eased – his conscience. He was allowed to notice his wife; he was supposed to notice his wife. He was also supposed to be nice to her. "I'm sure that the sofa in here would be more comfortable than your room, if you'd like to sit out here instead."

"Erm, yes, I'd like to," she said. "That'd be nice. If it wouldn't be a bother."

"If it were a bother, Hermione, I wouldn't make the offer."

Vintage Severus she thought as she changed out of her uniform in her room; social niceties were wasted on him, and yet he could be really kind under that brusque exterior. It was as if he was afraid that being nice would see him being taken advantage of, being taken for granted, so he had to make sure there was some recognition of the great favour he was conferring on you.

Which brought you to some very unpleasant conclusions about his parents, and his time at Hogwarts.

He was still marking when she came out of her room, so she settled herself on the sofa with her book: Sex Magic for Beginners. He was bound to notice eventually, which would allow her to raise the topic of what he was going to do to help bring about the end of the Marriage Law.

Well, once the shouting had stopped anyway.

She'd managed to read nearly half of the book by the time he registered what she was reading. She was a quick reader, and it was an interesting book in many ways, though disappointingly vanilla for her purposes. She'd started at the back, reasoning that the really advanced stuff would be there, and had found nothing more interesting than a series of lust potions, and a couple of charms to enhance the duration of erections.

She was now browsing the middle section, which was much more interesting, dealing with sensory enhancement potions and some rather complicated positions that seemed to require exceptional balance and bendiness.

"Hermione," he thundered, "What on earth are you reading?"

"Lucius' wedding present," she replied.

There was a fraught moment when she thought he was going to shout at her, but then he flopped down into one of the armchairs. He pinched the bridge of his nose in silence for several minutes, and then said, "I suppose you have a good reason for this."

"Other than titillation?" she asked cheerfully.

"Other than titillation. If you were solely interested in titillation you would be reading it in the privacy of your own room, and perhaps trying some of the charms in chapter 10. You wouldn't be stupid enough to read it in front of me, and risk having it confiscated."

Hermione grinned unrepentantly, deciding that chapter 10 could well be worth revisiting. "You're not wrong there. I was thinking that there might be something in here about the magics involved in the marriage contracts."

The fingers went back to the bridge of the nose again. "Hermione," he said with tones of infinite patience, "You really would have done better to have consulted Hreiter's On Binding."

"And where would I find a copy of that?"

Severus removed his fingers from his face, and gazed at the ceiling for several, long minutes. "You would find a copy on my bookshelves."

"Would I?" she said, letting the question hang there. She wanted to be sure that he meant what she thought he meant. Borrowing books wasn't something to be undertaken lightly.

"The third case along, the second shelf down, disguised as a very dull book on Potions. The disguising charm was chosen before you moved in, I hasten to add: no doubt you would have found the potions book fascinating."

Hermione found the book with little difficulty. It stood out like a sore thumb: a potions book wedged in among advanced charms textbooks. "Strenker's Intermediate Potions? I've already read that one. Anyway, you said the books were out of bounds, so I haven't even looked at your bookcases."

"So you're quite happy purloining potions ingredients from me, but you draw the line at books?"

"Of course," she said absently, frowning down at the book. "Books are important." Now she had it, she wasn't certain she wanted to read it.

"It won't bite you know," Severus said. Adding more gently, "If it contained matter I didn't think … suitable for you to read, I wouldn't have allowed you to see it. I suspect that chapter fifteen would be the most sensible place to start."

Hermione flipped through the book. This one wasn't illustrated with anything more risqué than a couple of diagrams of wand movements. The contents were much more disturbing though. The other book had been about pleasure; this one was about control.

Had he ever ...?

She had no right to ask, she told herself firmly.

She sat on the sofa, and started to read. The first few pages were bad enough: Hermione could think of little worse than not being in full possession of your mind, but they were at least temporary. The later charms were permanent; an indelible shadow on your mind that could never be removed.

And the more she read, the more sickened she became, and the more she needed to know whether he had ever used these on anyone. But how could you ask that question? Excuse me, husband of several months standing, but have you ever used the Dark Arts on someone? And she knew that the answer was probably yes, but she'd never really thought about it before. Now, with this book in front of her, what sorts of Dark Arts exactly had he used seemed a rather pressing question.

He'd _touched _her. He'd _kissed_ her.

She looked at him, and for the first time in months saw what the boys did: an ugly, old man with a vicious tongue, and a very shady past.

His reputation for being a mind reader was justified. She could see the precise moment when he realised what she was thinking: his eyelids veiled his eyes, and his lips twisted in a wry, savage smile. "Well, well, well, Miss Granger. Why are you looking so pale? Can it be that you have finally realised what sort of man you married?" His voice took on that poisonous tone so familiar to Neville in potions. "A naïve and trusting little Gryffindor tied to a foul old man, and nothing she can do about it. And it's not as if you can go running off to Dumbledore for protection this time, is it? You really are at my mercy."

For an instant she believed him. For an instant she doubted all the assumptions she'd ever made about him being a fundamentally decent, if foul-tempered, human being. Dumbledore trusted him, but how much was that worth? He was no more a reliable a guide to character than Trelawney, less so: at least she'd never hired Quirrel. But it was hard to reconcile this kind of filth with that fumbling, almost shy man who'd regarded bedding a student with such horror.

"Don't be silly," she said steadily. "You're not like that. Not like that at all."

He rose abruptly to his feet, and stood over her, using his height to dominate her. "Are you sure, Miss Granger? Are you really sure?"

"Yes." She looked up at him earnestly. "Just because you've got this book doesn't mean anything. I've got four books on poisons, and several on Dark Arts hexes, and I've never used them for practical purposes. I'm sure you had a very good reason for reading this book."

He turned sharply, and took several steps away from her. "The Dark Mark," he said, his back still to her. "I thought it might help me break the Dark Mark."

"Oh." She put the book down, took the few steps necessary to reach his side, and put a gentle hand on his arm. "That's why you decided to help me, isn't it?"

He looked at her, his face a blank mask. "I don't know what you mean."

"You know what it's like to be owned."

Something flashed in his dark eyes, and then he nodded, obviously reluctant to say anything more.

"Oh, Severus." Impulsively she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. "I'm sorry." He didn't know whether she was apologising for doubting him, or for his past, or some combination of the two, but uncertainly and awkwardly he returned her embrace. She was short enough for her head to tuck under his chin, and her hair was tickling him. "You do know I'm really glad you agreed to marry me, don't you?" she said into his chest.

"No gentleman could leave you to face the terrible fate of marrying a Weasley," he replied, carefully but tactfully extricating himself from her embrace. "Though there was a strong element of self interest. The way that the Weasley's breed, there would have been twins and triplets turning up here in eleven years time with red hair and the same propensity in getting into trouble as most of the Weasleys but with the added finesse of Granger brains. I'd have had to retire."

Hermione giggled. It was a little watery as giggles go, but it was pleasant to see her smile again.

"Tea?" he offered.

"That would be nice."

Hermione sat on the sofa and watched Severus busy himself with the tea things. It was a very domestic scene, one that was played out in homes across the country. She accepted her cup of tea gratefully, and took a sip. He took his own cup over to the armchair and sat down, looking a little awkward.

"You do realised," she said, "we've had our first domestic quarrel."

He snorted. "I suppose I should be grateful that you didn't throw things."

"Perhaps you should point out which ornaments you don't like, so that if I am tempted to throw things next time, I don't pick one of your favourites."

There was a faint smile before he said, "I'm sure there was something in the marriage agreement about me sharing all my worldly goods, that means you're entitled to throw anything you like."

"Even your books?"

"Even my books, though I'd prefer you to read them and not throw them."

"Really?"

"This is your home now, Hermione, and I suppose I shall have to get used to that. Even to the point of lending you books. Erm, you don't suppose I could borrow some of yours, do you?"

Severus wasn't used to people beaming at him with undisguised happiness, and found it a little unnerving. He consoled himself with the thought that it wasn't likely to happen too often. He was sure that married life would return to normal soon, and they would be glaring at each other across the breakfast table.


	16. In which a transitional chapter occurs

Severus woke the next day and found himself in no rush to get up. He wasn't generally one for leaping out of bed, full of enthusiasm ready to face the day, even on the weekends, but he was even more reluctant than usual to rise.

Last night had thrown him. He had been flattered by Hermione's trust in him; he was honest enough to admit that to himself. She, of the three, had always believed that he was on their side, and had thought he was worth listening to. He had valued that confidence in him, when so many others watched him out of the corner of their eyes in suspicion. And then she had chosen him to rescue her from the marriage law, and he hadn't found himself wanting to sneer at her naivety in hoping he'd help but actually volunteering, Choosing him didn't mean much when you considered the alternatives, and his agreement was enough to make you worry that he was turning into Potter and getting a Hero complex, but somewhere, deep down, he'd been touched.

Still, to find all that threatened by the loan of a book had been painful, surprisingly so, almost as surprising as the relief he'd felt that when she'd confirmed her faith in him. He hadn't realised how much he had come to take her good opinion for granted, and that kind of dependence made him uneasy.

Severus found himself in the unaccustomed position of being in two minds about Hermione. He wasn't used to being uncertain, being more inclined to the kneejerk reaction maintained in the face of all common sense, until he had to admit he was wrong, and then pretending he'd believed it all along.

So he was disturbed to find that his first thought, the hope that things would return to normal, was equally balanced by the hope that whatever had happened last night wouldn't be forgotten about.

He got his wish: both of them.

It was just the same as every other day and yet completely different.

Hermione greeted him with a cheery good morning as their paths crossed on their way to and from the bathroom. He gave his usual grunt of acknowledgement, and that should have been that, but no. Hermione smiled at him, and it wasn't just amusement at his grumpiness, there seemed to be an element of fondness as well.

It set the tone for their interactions for the rest of the term. There was the occasional nod as they passed each other in the corridors, and a Hogsmeade weekend didn't go by without a little something left on his desk so he could help himself. Hermione could be found in their sitting room slightly more frequently, doing her homework, taking advantage of the peace and quiet to the hurly burly of the common room, and it wasn't as if she was there every night.

It didn't mean they were friends or anything.

Nothing had changed in Potions classes, for instance. There was no smile or nod in greeting as he entered the classroom, he was mean Professor Snape there, and to be treated with respect. The length of the essays didn't creep up, as he'd half expected, so she was sticking scrupulously to their agreement.

No, things were back to normal, though it was a week before he felt comfortable enough to ask about borrowing a book.

"Of course," she said in reply to his query. "What did you have in mind?"

"I'm not sure really. I haven't had the opportunity to read a great deal of Muggle literature, other than the classics. I wouldn't mind a chance to branch out a little."

"Hmmm." She opened the door to her room, and dropped her satchel on the floor. "You'd better come in, and see what I've got on my shelves."

Severus felt like an intruder as he followed her into her room. There was an awkward moment whilst she kicked a pile of clothes out of sight beneath the bed, and he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the bookcases just in case there was something more than a shirt or skirt involved. He had no wish to be caught looking at her underwear.

Hermione was slightly flushed when she turned to him. "So, tell me some of the books you've read and liked, and which ones you couldn't stand. That should give me some ideas."

His father had said that Muggles were inferior beings, and there was no need to read their classics, so of course he had. There was nothing like a bit of teenage rebellion to kindle an interest in all things your parents said were bad, and of all of the things he'd tried as a result, Muggle literature was the least offensive.

His father had been right about the Death Eaters being a bunch of nutters, but it was about the only thing he had even been right about. Even Neville Longbottom was right sometimes; it didn't mean you were going to take his advice on anything.

"My mother had a collection of leather-bound books," he was surprised to hear himself volunteer. "Great Muggle Classics, it was called. All in red morocco leather, with gold lettering. It had Shakespeare, obviously, Dickens, and Austen. I liked her. She was very acerbic."

Hermione sat on the edge of her bed and ran a finger along the bookcase. "Well, if you liked Austen, you might like Edgeworth, I suppose." She handed him a slim volume, a little tatty round the edges, which he opened at random. Absent-mindedly he sat down on the end of the bed, and began to read.

"I think we can take that as a success," she said in amusement.

He blinked at her. "Hmmm?"

"Never mind."

Severus returned his attention to his book entirely unaware of the quizzical look Hermione was giving him. She kicked off her shoes, tucked her feet beneath her, and chose a book at random. It wasn't quite the domestic scene she had pictured – the two of them, seated on the sofa before the fire, reading – but it was close enough.

Severus didn't venture into her room again. She wasn't surprised; it was what he did, blow hot and cold. It wasn't just that he was embarrassed at the idea of having spent an hour or so, oblivious to the world, half-sprawled on her bed, but that he felt exposed at having been that unguarded with her.

She hadn't married a cat after all; she'd married a hedgehog.

At the first sign of difficulties, he curled up into a tight ball and presented you with a spiky exterior. He wouldn't uncurl until he felt safe, and the only way to make him feel safe was to ignore him until he got over it, and keep leaving out the saucers of milk. Or cockroach clusters.

It was a shame there wasn't a Newt in Severus-management because she was beginning to get rather good at it.

The Christmas break was looming, and she faced the twin problems of what to get him for a present, and how to persuade him to spend at least some time with her parents over Christmas. They'd been unbelievably supportive about her decision to stay in the Wizarding World, but things would be easier if they could get to know Severus a little better. They didn't have to like him, but they did have to trust him.

She decided to deal with the easy issue first – the invitation to a family Christmas.

She waited until he'd finished his marking, and had settled on the sofa with a cup of tea and a biscuit. He hated marking, and bitter experience had taught her that trying to ask him something when he was in the middle of dispensing sarcasm to his unfortunate students, was not the best way to approach Mr Hedgehog.

"Erm, Severus?" she asked, testing his mood. "I was wondering if I could ask you for a favour?"

"If it involves Potter or Weasley the answer is no," he replied, though without heat.

"It's nothing to do with those two, it's about Christmas."

He looked at her anxiously. "I presumed you would be spending Christmas with your parents, and not here."

"Absolutely. It's just… I was wondering whether you'd like to… my parents have invited you for Christmas as well."

"Of course they have," he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world that her parents would suddenly decide to take him to their bosom. "They want to keep an eye on me. See if I have any bad habits, like beating my wife, or slipping her nasty potions, or using Imperio to get a bit of peace and quiet. God knows, I'm tempted."

"It'd take more than Imperio to keep me quiet."

"I imagine so." He sighed. "I presume from the fact that you actually mentioned this invitation, rather than conveniently forgetting all about it, that you would like me to turn up?"

Hermione nodded. "I would. I know it's a big imposition, and I'm sure you had other plans, but, well, I wish you'd think about it. Just a couple of days would be enough."

"Very well."

"Very well, you'll think about it, or very well, you'll come?"

"It would be unwise to irritate the people who hold the deeds to my home: I'll come."

"I was thinking Boxing Day, if you think you could stand it?" she ventured.

"That would be … acceptable." He took a fortifying drink of tea. "At the very least, it will allow me to escape Christmas spent with Albus and Minerva. Now, as to sleeping arrangements…"

"You'll be in the guest bedroom," Hermoine said quickly.

"I didn't doubt it," he replied, and she had the feeling she'd amused him somehow. "I was wondering if it was going to be as excessively floral as the rest of the house."

"Oh." She hadn't really considered how out of place he would be in her suburban home – a large, black moth flitting from flower to flower. "No, not really. It's cream, really. It's more dull than flowery."

And she would have a word with Mum about getting a new quilt cover and maybe some new curtains – the one's that were in there were still too girly, even if they weren't flowery -something black or grey, and abstract, and masculine.

Severus walked over to his desk and searched through the pile of papers there to produce a roll of parchment that he handed to Hermione. "You're not the only one to be issuing festive invitations," he said. "Lucius and Narcissa request the company, and all that, of Mr and Mrs Snape at their New Year's soiree. The party will go on very late, so we are invited to spend the night at Malfoy Manor. "

"Formal robes, I see," she said. "Do you want me to go with you or not?"

"I think it would be … wise for you to attend."

He didn't elaborate. He didn't need to. Either Lucius was about to offer some sort of alliance – however loose and however unreliable – or, at the very least, she might be able to pick up some information. More likely it would be Severus that would pick up information, and she would be playing the role of beater, flushing out the game.

"Fair enough." She handed him back the parchment. "How formal is formal robes? I wouldn't want to show you up by wearing something that was inappropriate."

"I'm no expert on women's clothing," he said. "I think Narcissa shops at Madame Lazards in Diagon Alley. You could try there. It's expensive though."

"I've got a bit put by," she said. "And I'm sure that my parents can give me a sub, if necessary. It'll be worth it in the long-run if we can get Lucius to co-operate."

Severus hesitated before saying, "If you need further funds, you may draw on my account. Do try not to bankrupt me. And nothing red. Or gold."

She grinned at him. "Of course not," she said. "You'd have an absolute fit. I was thinking of something tasteful and black, if that won't offend your sensibilities. Hopefully, it won't be too expensive, but thanks for the offer, anyway. I'd pay you back," she said.

"I know you will."

"When I go shopping, I'll pick up a bottle of wine or something," she said. "You know, so you don't have to worry about picking up a gift for my parents."

"I'm perfectly capable of managing to purchase a Christmas present," he said. "Unlike Potter and Weasley, I do not require you to do my thinking for me."

"I didn't think you did," she replied. "I don't assume that just because they're useless at buying presents – I mean, how many times can you give someone a book token for Christmas? – that all males are; my father manages just fine. I just thought I'd save you the bother. After all, they're not your parents; they're not even your real in-laws, are they?"

"It's no bother," he said, marginally appeased. "I have to go to Diagon Alley next weekend to pick up some supplies. I was thinking a bottle of Firewhiskey for your father, and perhaps some perfume for your mother…?"

"I'm sure that'll be fine," Hermione said. "And thank you."

Now all she had to worry about the tricky business of what to get him for Christmas.

Severus was also been exercised by the thought of what to buy his wife for Christmas.

Common courtesy dictated that he buy something for his hosts. That was easy enough. He didn't know any male who didn't appreciate a nice drop of something alcoholic, and Firewhiskey would be something of a novelty for a Muggle. Mrs Granger liked flowers; it was an easy assumption that she liked perfume.

But what to buy Hermione?

Books seemed the easy answer, but her library was extensive and it would never do to duplicate things. Even the boys had realised that, and plumped for book tokens, with the kind of breathtaking thoughtlessness that teenaged boys were capable of.

He couldn't give her perfume. It was one thing to give scent to your mother-in-law, and quite another to give it to your not-really wife. It implied a kind of intimacy that didn't exist between them.

Jewellery was out of the question. It was either too expensive, and risked making her uncomfortable, or too cheap, thus exposing her to all sorts of snide comments from his acquaintances.

And then he had a brilliant idea. A scarf, in Slytherin colours no less. Not one of the nasty school scarves, but something elegant and refined: suitable for evening wear. Not expensive enough to look like he was buying his wife's affections but not cheap enough to insult her. She would be bound to wear it, to be polite, and it would subtly confirm to interested observers that she was under his protection and to be treated accordingly.

The fact that it would get up the noses of Potter and Weasley was just the icing on the cake.

It was a pity he wouldn't be there to see Hermione's face when she opened her present.

Instead he had to content himself with leaving the carefully wrapped present on his desk, with a little note to tell Hermione that there was a staff meeting that morning so he probably wouldn't see her before Boxing Day.

It didn't take Hermione long to pack. Unlike previous holidays, she could get away with leaving a lot of stuff in her room. Lavender, who was notoriously careless when it came to the ownership of other people's toiletries, would hardly break down the door to Snape's quarters to borrow her shampoo.

So it was just packing her Muggle clothes, and a bit of light reading to tide her over the holidays, and she was done. Severus' present was carefully placed on the top of her trunk, before closing it, cording it, and putting it by the door for the Elves to take down to the train.

She took a leaf out of Severus' book, and left her present to him, bought after long and careful consideration, on the desk. "Merry Christmas," she wrote, "I hope you like the present. If you don't, I've kept the receipt and you can always swap it for something else. See you on Boxing Day, Hermione."

She felt mildly cheated when she arrived in the Gryffindor Common Room to find that Ron and Harry were already packed and ready to go. It was her job to organise the boys, not Lavender's.

"You set then?" Harry said cheerfully.

"I am," she replied. "All packed up and ready to go."

"So are we," Ron said. "Lavender's been brilliant."

"Yeah, brilliant," Harry echoed, pulling a face behind Ron's back.

Lavender wrapped herself possessively round Ron. "Well, someone has to look after these two, now you're not here."

"I don't suppose," Harry said plaintively, "that you'll let me organise myself one day."

"No," the girls said in unison, and then laughed. Hermione still felt uncomfortable about watching Lavender look after the boys, but she had to face the fact that they were growing apart in many ways. It was the inevitable result of growing up. Harry and Ron would get girlfriends, and want to spend time with them. Eventually she would be free of the marriage law and have a boyfriend. It wasn't that they wouldn't always be friends but that they would have other responsibilities and loyalties.

Nothing could take away the fact they'd faced Voldemort together, and even in the midst of their new lives they would still be able to call on each other, be able to understand each other in ways that their new partners wouldn't.

Harry, perhaps sensing a little of how she was feeling, wrapped an arm round her waist. "Come on then; we'd better head off."

It was a cheerful group that walked down to the train: excited at the thought of going home for Christmas, and busily arranging to meet up over the holidays to do their present shopping. The train was already standing on the platform, and steam was billowing around the crowds of chattering children.

"I've already done mine," Hermione said.

"Well I haven't," said Harry. "So you'll still have to come with us or Ginny and Molly will be horribly disappointed in their gifts this year. I was thinking Ginny would really like a broomstick servicing kit…."

"Hey, I was going to give her that," Ron said. "You'll have to think of something else."

"I don't see why," Harry began, then fell silent as Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson made their way towards them. "I wonder what they want," he muttered.

"Snape," Draco said with a smirk.

"Malfoy," Hermione acknowledged.

"Doing anything interesting over the holidays?" he asked, still with the same smug smirk on his features.

"What do you want to know for," Ron asked, hand ostentatiously on his wand.

Hermione patted his arm, and he relaxed a little. "Not really," she said airily. "Christmas with the parents. New Year at Malfoy Manor. You?"

The smirk disappeared with amazing speed. "You mean he told you?"

Hermione smiled sweetly. "I expect I'll see you there then. That is, if your parents will let you join the grown ups."

Surprisingly, Pansy smiled at Hermione. "I'll look forward to seeing you there. I'm sure we'll have lots of fun."

Pansy took Draco very firmly by the arm, and they walked away to the other end of the platform to find a seat on the train.

"Well, I wonder what she meant by that?" Ron said, looking after them thoughtfully.

"It sounded like a threat to me," Lavender said. "You know, one of those Slytherin ones that you can never pin down. So when McGonagall asks you how the fight started, you can never give her an explanation, but you know what they meant."

"Oh yes," Harry said. "And then Snape looks at you like you're something he's scraped off his shoe, and you know you're in for detention with Filch for a lifetime, and he deducts so many house points you have to go out and save the Wizarding World so that Gryffindor stands any chance of winning the House Cup."

"Still," Ron said. "It's not as if they can do anything much, not when you're a guest in their house. It's terribly bad manners to hex someone you've invited to dinner, don't you know?" He stuck his little finger, in an exaggerated gesture of affected politeness. "It's when you end up there without an invitation, that's when you have to worry…"

"More like, when they have to worry, these days," Harry said. "I bet the Aurors are just panting for an excuse to break down the door and have a look round. And they don't wait to be invited."

"Have you decided what to wear?" Lavender asked.

"Not yet. Severus has given me the name of the shop that Narcissa uses, but I haven't got a clue what's appropriate."

"If you wanted me to, I could give you a hand," Lavender offered, a little hesitantly.

"Would you? That'd be really kind." Hermione wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth; she needed to look her best for the damned party. The Malfoys struck her as just the sort of people to judge on appearances, and whilst nothing would erase the taint of Mudblood from her, at least she could look like a Mudblood who was trying to look like a witch.

The Express let off its whistle, and they hurried to find seats.

Hermione, looking out of the window, saw a black shape on the platform that almost looked like… No, it couldn't be… She rubbed at the window in an attempt to clear it, but the steam was on the outside. The train began to move out of the station, so she stood up and flung the window open.

It was.

He'd come down to see her off.

She stuck her head out of the window and waved at him, and then wondered whether he'd been sent down to make sure that everyone had got on the train. He might not be there for her at all.

He didn't wave. Severus Snape wouldn't be seen dead waving at anyone, but he did half-raise his hand in acknowledgement before turning away.

She slammed the window shot and flopped back onto her seat, with a large smile on her face, which everyone else in the carriage studiously ignored.

The Malfoys wouldn't know what hit them.


	17. Operation Malfoy begins

Hermione had no reason to feel nervous about New Year at the Malfoys, something she kept telling herself very firmly, in the hope that if she reminded herself of this fact every day of the holidays then perhaps she would come to believe it.

It wasn't as if she were going on her own. Severus had arranged to pick her up just after lunch – so he could avoid another meal with her parents – and take her on to the Manor. This time he was going to Apparate into the spare bedroom rather than the front room, and would hopefully avoid startling her mother.

The Boxing Day visit had not begun well when Severus had Apparated straight into the lounge, making her mother drop her favourite vase. A quick Reparo had sorted that problem out, but her mother had been annoyed by the incident, as had Severus who thought it unreasonable of people to get upset just because someone popped into existence just in front of their nose without warning when the arrangements for that persons arrival had been communicated well in advance.

However, her father had warmed to Severus upon opening his Christmas present, and the two of them had quickly disappeared into the study – a grand name for a spare room in which they kept a pile of books and an old computer – to try out the contents of the bottle and give Mrs Granger a chance to calm down.

Hermione didn't know what they'd talked about, and she wasn't sure that she wanted to know what they'd talked about.

She imagined that most married couples looked on their first Christmas with their in-laws as being a bit fraught. How much worse was it when the marriage concerned was not merely arranged, but forced? Her parents had to assume that it had been consummated at some point, though they very carefully didn't ask, which added a whole new dimension to an already volatile situation. Fathers weren't keen on thinking of their daughters having sex at the best of times, and this certainly wasn't the best of times.

Once you factored in the capacity of Severus Snape to be awkward…

The day had been something of a success though. Severus had been civil, her parents had been polite, and somehow they'd muddled through the day without hexes or Obliviates, only a couple of sarcastic comments, and no blood on the carpet.

Overall, though it had been a subdued Christmas.

Hermione had spent her first few days at home trying to relax. She'd become expert at shoving whatever drama was going on at Hogwarts to the back of her mind during her holidays. She had determinedly ignored Severus and the Malfoys, and tried to slip back into the old routines of a family Christmas.

She had had only limited success.

It had been odd, going shopping on Oxford Street, and seeing all the Muggles crowded together, and realising that calling them Muggles already meant that she was distinguishing herself from them as a group. They were so drab and uniform: all dressed in jeans and trainers, with some sludge-coloured jacket on top. She'd felt out of place in the Muggle world, just as much as she did in the Wizarding World. She recognised none of the bands being advertised on the posters, and only some of the films that were being released on DVD. Only in the bookshop had she felt any sense of connection to this world that she'd left behind at eleven.

Her parents had teased her about the number of books that she'd bought – more books than the presents she'd set out to buy – but they had had spent a pleasant time squabbling over who was going to read them first.

The real difficulty in pretending that nothing was going on in her life had been the coming trip to Diagon Alley to buy robes. Lavender had turned out to be a good choice for the role of style guru though, managing to get Hermione kitted out with three sets of robes that were, to her admittedly untrained eye, both elegant and demure. There was no reason for her to feel uncomfortable at the thought of spending the weekend at Malfoy Manor now. No reason, but that didn't stop her worrying about it. So much was riding on her ability to schmooze a man who hated Mudbloods and who she had actually hexed once. It was too much to hope that he'd forgotten about that. Should she mention it? Should she just ignore it? Should she apologise?

She could just imagine that conversation. "I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy if, during the course of our last disagreement, I inadvertently caught you with a very nasty curse, and I hope it didn't scar you too badly. Still, you were trying to kill me at the time, so perhaps we could put that behind us and work towards freeing Muggleborns from slavery?"

Even the most optimistic Gryffindor would have to admit that wasn't likely to get the desired results. No, appealing to Lucius Malfoy's better feelings – always assuming that he had some – wasn't likely to be the most productive approach.

On the other hand blackmail and death threats might well be, if she could sound convincing enough.

She was resolved that whatever deal she struck with Lucius, it wouldn't involve her getting done over. Obviously he'd try to get more out of this than a simple collaboration. He'd always be looking to turn the situation to his advantage, no matter how much pain and misery it would cause someone. He was someone who'd heard of ethics, but discarded them a long time ago as being something of a hindrance in his rise to power. It was what he did. It was his nature. You didn't have to know about the fable of the scorpion to know that.

She just wouldn't agree to anything until she'd discussed it with Severus first. It was about time he made himself useful. At this rate they'd still be married in ten years, let alone at graduation, and his chances of a blonde, young witch were receding rapidly.

And where was he? It was five minutes past the hour already, and normally he was so prompt.

It was another ten minutes before a sharp crack heralded the arrival of her husband.

"You're late," she said crossly, as he came down the stairs carrying his bags. He always seemed too big for her parents' house. She was so used to seeing him at Hogwarts with its tall ceilings that he dominated the smaller scale of the suburban setting, an effect exacerbated by his position on the third stair up. He was probably doing it on purpose.

"I was worried," she offered, in an attempt to soothe his ruffled feathers. About her, not him, went without saying. She was struck by how much her attitude to him had changed, and how much like a normal couple they were being at the moment. How many husbands and wives were waiting for their spouses with tapping feet, and a sense of irritation?

"Albus wanted a word." It wasn't quite an apology, but it was an explanation, and rather more than she was used to getting.

She grinned, which did nothing to improve his mood. "And what is amusing you, Miss Granger?" he said, still very much on his dignity.

"I was thinking that we sounded like an old married couple," she said. "Before you know it, I will be nagging you about leaving your dirty socks in the floor and complaining that you never give me flowers any more."

"I can't imagine that there will ever be circumstances under which I will present you with flowers," he said. "Not even in the event of our divorce, happy though that day will be."

"I shall expect champagne at the very least," Hermione said over her shoulder, whilst disappearing back into the lounge to fetch her luggage. "Mum," she called out. "I'm off now. See you later."

Mrs Granger came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, and followed Hermione back into the entrance Hall where Severus was now waiting for them. "Severus, nice to see you again." He acknowledged her greeting with a nod, anxious not to get involved in some long conversation. He didn't want to be any later to Malfoy Manor than could be helped, and Mrs Granger seemed to take after her daughter in her ability to talk for hours without stopping. "Now, have you got everything dear?" she said to Hermione.

"I think so, Mum." Hermione kissed Mrs Granger on the cheek. "I'll be back in a couple of days, ok?"

"We've only been invited for the weekend," Severus said, looking at her luggage. There were only two bags, but one of them was rather large, and dwarfed his black trunk. "Surely you don't need so many clothes?"

Hermione and Mrs Granger exchanged a look. How often had Mr Granger been heard to make the same complaint about packing to go on holiday? "Oh, only the small one is clothes, the other one has a couple of books for me to read," she said.

"A couple?" he asked incredulously.

"I don't imagine," she replied, "that many people will want to talk to me. So I've made sure I've got enough reading material to tide me over."

She had a point, he realised, so he couldn't order – suggest strongly rather– that she leave some behind. Draco and Pansy wouldn't be company for her, and Narcissa would be satisfied once she realised that there were no sordid details of their marriage about which to gossip. Nor could he point out that Lucius has a well-stocked library and suggest that she borrowed some reading material – that was likely to prove disastrous. He could only imagine the titles she would choose, and his nerves weren't up to watching Hermione reading increasingly advanced books on sex magic in front of the other guests. He'd never hear the end of it.

"Very well," he sighed, offering her his arm. "Shall we?"

"Now we really do sound married," Hermione said, grasping the proffered limb. "Just be grateful I didn't keep you waiting."

A flick of Severus' wand corralled the luggage into a neat group, and they Apparated away leaving Mrs Granger feeling foolish as she tried to wave goodbye to empty space.

Malfoy Manor wasn't what Hermione had been expecting. It was old, certainly, and grand but fell short of the large Palladian mansion she'd imagined. It was Tudor in style, and reminded her of all the mock-Tudor houses that lined the suburbs in a pastiche of this style. She wondered what Lucius would think of that, if he knew.

"It's quite small," she said, looking up the long drive to the house framed by a pair of ancient oaks.

"Only on the outside," Severus replied. "The Malfoys built the place around the time of Henry VIII and have added entire wings and a ballroom since then, but they kept the exterior unchanged so that the Muggles didn't get curious. Something to do with tax, I believe. I wouldn't mention it if I were you. Lucius has a tendency to wax lyrical on the injustice of him being forced to live in something that looks like a hovel due to bloody Muggles though that isn't precisely the term he uses."

"Is there anything that we can talk about?" Hermione asked wearily.

"The weather?" Severus realised that Hermione was nervous. He wasn't used to Hermione being anything less than wholly confident. Even when she had proposed to him, something that you would normally expect to be an occasion of nerves, she had been cool, calm and collected. He realised that he was supposed to say something that would make her feel better. This was difficult. He was unused to the role of offering encouragement, and, besides, the situation was rather bleak.

He could say that nothing nasty was going to happen to her, but she had the sense to realise that anyway. "I'm sure you'll think of something," he replied, deciding that the truth was the best option. "I don't think there is anything that you could say that would make Lucius decide not to do something that he had already decided to do. His approach will be utilitarian and not personal: he's looking to use you and not make friends."

Hermione understood the point. Lucius would do whatever it was he wanted, regardless of whether she was charming or not, and nothing she said or did would make any difference. That was a comforting thought: at least it wouldn't be her fault if anything went wrong.

They moved off up the drive, their luggage bobbing along behind. The walk gave Hermione a chance to admire the gardens: formal parterres flanking either side of the large front door, an impeccable lawn, and somewhere in the distance a large pond that almost merited the name lake. There were probably peacocks somewhere.

The door was dark oak, and reminded her of the entrance to Hogwarts. It was designed to keep out a small army, and had a large brass knocker that made an impressive noise that seemed to reverberate in some large space behind the door. A House Elf opened the door, and she could see that the entrance hall had a black and white marble floor, with white walls mounted with large, ornate gilt mirrors. The effect, of their reflection echoing back across the hall, made her feel like a large and hostile crowd was watching her.

"If you'll be pleased to be waiting here, sir and madam, I shall be fetching the master," the Elf said, before disappearing – literally – in search of Lucius Malfoy.

Hermione surveyed the room and felt badly out of place. This was the kind of house she'd been taken round by her parents on wet weekends in August so that she would be cultured. It wasn't a house for living in. It certainly wasn't a house you could put your feet on the furniture, which she was sure would feature a Louis or two.

"I've always heard," Severus said, "that when dealing with difficult people, it's best to imagine them naked. I can't see that making oneself feel nauseous at the thought of a naked Potter or Dumbledore is very helpful. So I have adapted the maxim by thinking of some other occasion, less wearing to the nerves, when the person in question has not shown to advantage.

"There was one happy occasion when Peeves dropped a bucket of water on Albus that has provided me with many years of stress relief when dealing with the Headmaster. I find that this helps immensely. And in your case, not only can you think of a time when dear old Lucius wasn't looking at his best, but you have the distinction of being the author of his downfall."

So it was that Lucius, arriving to meet his guests, found Hermione looking up at Severus with what appeared to be a fond smile, and Severus looking almost happy.

It was fortunate that he didn't realise that the good humour was entirely at his expense. It would have annoyed him, and he had already been annoyed when the news of Snape marrying Hermione had reached him. His irritation had been worked off by arranging for the happy couple to share quarters; it would have been unfortunate if he had been presented with fresh cause for irritation.

"Ah, there you are," Lucius said, at his most genial. "Severus, Mrs Snape."

"Here we are indeed," Severus replied, managing to convey by the twitch of an eyebrow his amusement at Lucius playing nicely with the other children.

"Sprotty will show you to your rooms, and then I hope you will join Narcissa and I in the Library for tea. I believe that Cook has made the chocolate cake you are so fond of, Severus," Lucius said. "Shall we say in half an hour?"

"Yes, that should be fine," Severus replied.

Another House Elf scurried forwards and vanished with the luggage, making Hermione jump. They still made her uncomfortable, and having so many of them popping into and out of existence around her, and tugging their metaphorical forelocks, was going to be a test of her nerves.

As he watched them follow the House Elf up the stairs, Lucius was revising his assumptions about the couple. Severus had put his hand on Hermione's shoulder to guide her towards their rooms, and she had neither flinched nor leaned into it. To his expert eye, there was something more than the exchange of favours, yet less than sexual, between them.

When he had heard about the marriage, he had wondered quite what his old friend was up to. Was this some romance? Perhaps Hermione had been the reason Severus had abandoned Voldemort. He'd quickly dismissed that idea. It was nonsense to think that Severus had changed sides for any reason other than realising which side was going to come out on top, and doubtless he had approached his marriage in the same calculating manner: exchanging sex for protection. It was easier to believe that Severus had suddenly developed a taste for Mudbloods, deplorable though that was, than suddenly developing a nasty case of altruism.

What if it were catching?

Hermione may have announced to the school the details of a passionate relationship – Draco was a diligent correspondent with his mother – but that didn't mean that Severus actually liked the girl in anyway.

Still, he had supposed that if your tastes ran to the vulgar, Hermione would provide a certain amount of quiet entertainment, especially if your options were limited. Quiet, if you used Silencio, at least.

Obviously he would have the sense to limit his sexual peccadilloes to the more pedestrian end of the spectrum until she'd left school; Dumbledore would have a great deal to say if one of his pupils turned up in class battered and bruised, and unable to sit down properly.

Which was probably just as well for Severus, because, looking at Hermione's firm chin and determined manner, it occurred to him that Draco had seriously underestimated the obduracy of Mrs Snape. She looked like just the sort of witch who would slip poison in your coffee if your attentions proved unwelcome and he probably owed Severus a debt of gratitude for stepping in as he had. Not that he intended to communicate this to Severus, or he would take advantage of it dreadfully.

Whatever their relationship was, Narcissa would get at the truth. Some people thought Veritaserum was a useful method of extracting information, others thought that torture was more fun if less reliable, but neither could compare to the efficacy of his wife asking seemingly innocuous questions over a cup of tea.

It was one of the reasons he'd stayed faithful to her for all these years.

Hermione's unease was only exacerbated when the Elf showed her into her room. Snape, it seemed, was to be in the adjoining room, and she stifled a giggle at the sight of the connecting door. She wondered if Lucius and Narcissa had separate rooms too. She presumed so, for all those occasions when he came back late at night from whatever unsavoury task he had been performing, and didn't want to disturb his wife. She didn't know whether Lucius knew Legilimency – she must ask Severus – but thinking about Lucius' sexual practices was unwise, and frankly a bit disturbing.

The room wasn't as ornate as the entrance hall. Either she'd been placed in the second-best bedroom, or the Malfoys weren't quite as keen on rubbing their guests' noses into their inferiority. It was light and airy, with a cream wallpaper covered in roses – how Severus would loathe it – and rich, cream curtains at the windows and on the four poster bed.

There was also a house elf, which was bent over her open suitcase and rummaging around.

"What are you doing?" Hermione snapped, uncomfortable at the thought of a Malfoy Elf anywhere near her things. She wouldn't put it past them to snoop.

"I'se here to helps the missis unpack," it said.

"There's no need," she replied. "I'm quite capable of doing it myself. In fact, I want to do it myself."

"But I'se sposed to do it," wailed the elf. "Missis isn't sposed to be doing it herselves. I'se will have to be ironing my hands."

"Fine," said Hermione.

The elf's ears drooped, but Hermione hardened her heart. If you gave into the wretched things, you just encouraged them to keep being subservient. Sometimes she wondered if they nipped down to the kitchens and had a good snigger at the stupidity of their masters, before wrapping a couple of bandages round their hands and pretending that they'd been injuring themselves.

She hoped so; it was better than the alternative. When all this Marriage Law nonsense was out of the way, she was determined to get to the bottom of the mystery of the House Elves: Hermione Granger – Snape – Granger saviour of the Wizarding World.

The Elf despatched to the bowels of the Manor, Hermione quickly unpacked, putting her clothes into the enormous wardrobe. It was probably an armoire, rather than a mere wardrobe, and had some nifty charms on it that would erase creases from clothes automatically: something to bear in mind for her own home, when she got one.

Settled at last, she faced the dilemma of whether the change her robes for tea. She didn't want to look as if she were making too much of an effort, but neither did she want to be sneered at as an unmannerly Mudblood.

Uncertain, she looked at the connecting door. She could ask Severus? He would probably dismiss her worries as being silly and petty, rather than offer useful advice, but that would probably make her feel better anyway.

She knocked tentatively at the door.

Severus opened it, looking rather flushed. "What do you want?" he hissed, sounding worried, and only opening the door a crack.

"I was wondering whether I ought to put something more formal on," she said. What on earth was wrong with him? She'd never seem him so utterly discomposed, short of frothing bad temper and shouting.

"You'll be fine in that," he said in a strangulated undertone.

"OK. I'll see you in a bit then?"

He stared at her, apparently lost for words, and then slammed the door shut in her face.

Her mother had always said that men were a mystery, and it seemed Severus was a bigger mystery than most. Mentally she shrugged; there was no point trying to work out what was bothering. No doubt he'd see fit to explain to her in detail later what precisely she had done wrong.

Reassured that her outfit was entirely suitable, she applied a little perfume to her wrists and settled down on the bed – with a book of course – to wait for her husband. She was well into the next chapter, and wondering whether the bloody fingerprint was a red herring or a vital clue – just because she was a bookworm, didn't mean she was always reading something highbrow – when the connecting door flew open.

"What do you think you were doing?" he spluttered. "There was a house elf in my room. He heard you."

Hermione, startled by his abrupt entrance, shot upright and dropped her book, losing her place. "I'm sorry. I don't see why that's a problem."

His arm shot out, pointing behind him at the door. "You don't see… you don't…" He took a deep breath, and then let it out again in a long sigh. "I suppose you don't," he said more moderately. "I forget that Muggles are so different."

"So what did I do wrong?" she asked patiently. "I assume I did do something wrong."

She was amazed when Severus went bright red.

Oh.

She looked at the door, and then she looked at him, and then she looked at the coverlet. "Oh, I see," she said. "Well actually I don't see. The Elf was there all the time, so he knows that nothing was going on. We're due downstairs as soon as possible, so we very clearly haven't had the time to get up to anything."

Severus looked at the ceiling, searching for divine support. "That isn't the point. You knocked on the door. That's not the way things are done."

"I'm sorry," she said blankly.

"It's not for the woman to take a lead in such things," Severus replied, taking a deep interest in the wallpaper.

Opening the connecting door seemed to be the Pureblood equivalent of standing on street corners in a short skirt with no knickers. They really were an odd lot. "You mean that when the man fancies a… wants to er… be intimate with his wife he has to knock on the door, but she's not allowed to do the same thing? For heaven's sake, what if the woman is feeling frisky, what does she do?"

"Traditionally, she's supposed to leave the door ajar."

"That's it? Leave the door ajar? That seems a bit cold-blooded to me, and more than a little lacking in enthusiasm. I hope you don't expect your next wife to behave like that," she said briskly, getting off the bed and smoothing down her robes. "I'm certainly not allowing you to marry a cold fish like that."

"You're not?" he said, looking a bit bemused.

"Absolutely not. You may have to settle for someone who isn't a blonde, but I'm telling you that there'll be none of this separate beds nonsense. And if she wants to communicate her passion for your company, it'll be by pinning you against the wall and snogging you senseless."

Severus was a little distracted. He was trying to work out whether the advantages of not having to leave a warm and comfortable bed to return to your own chilly one in the middle of the night outweighed the possible disadvantages of snoring. And was the possibility of a morning shag worth the risk of morning breath.

"And besides," she said, returning to the topic at hand. "I'm not sure that I wouldn't prefer it if the other guests thought we were at it like nifflers. It could save a lot of difficulties."

Severus didn't know who had been invited to join them, but it was true that even the hottest head would be less likely to insult Hermione if they believed that the relationship existed on more than paper.

"I suppose so," he said, resigned to the thought of sacrificing his reputation yet again. "Though it's Narcissa you'll have to watch out for more than anything. She has a very nasty habit of getting information out of you."

"You've never spent Sunday lunch at the Burrow, whilst Mrs Weasley tries to find out whether you're going out with her son, and if not, why not. After that Narcissa is going to be a doddle," Hermione said confidently.

"Just try not to blacken my character too much," he replied. "I have to teach their children, you know."

"I'll be good," she promised.

"I wish I could believe that."

He crossed the room to the door, and opened it courteously for her. Her grip on his arm may have been a little tighter than usual, but there was no other visible sign of her nerves.

Operation Malfoy had begun.


	18. In which we visit Malfoy Manor

Narcissa was looking forward to meeting Hermione.

A lesser person might feel a slight sense of embarrassment at meeting a girl who had jilted their son, perhaps even resent the insult. Not Narcissa. As far as she was concerned, she was just grateful that the wedding hadn't taken place.

Lucius thought that she'd opposed the marriage both because the girl was a Mudblood, which he found entirely reasonable, and because no one would ever be good enough for her little boy. This, he had less patience with, saying that he had to get married at some point.

Narcissa agreed with that. She just didn't think that it should happen whilst he was still at Hogwarts. What she could never explain to her husband without hurting his feelings terribly was that marrying young was a mistake. Lucius would take that to mean that she wasn't happy with her marriage, and that wasn't true.

It couldn't be said that she actually regretted becoming Mrs Malfoy, it's just she would have liked to have waited a couple of years before doing so. She would have liked to have travelled, to have seen France and Italy, and bought shoes in exotic places, but after the honeymoon they'd never left the country. First, Lucius was too busy trying to overthrow the government, and latterly he hadn't been allowed to leave the country.

He'd lost so much in the way of position and power that he was in desperate need of reassurance from his wife; he'd half expected her to leave him after the War. So it wouldn't matter how often she explained that just because their marriage had worked out so well, it didn't mean that Draco's would, he would still think it was a criticism.

Lucius didn't take criticism very well.

So she'd bitten her tongue, and hoped for the best, and Miss Granger hadn't disappointed.

She was also the first Muggleborn to cross the threshold of Malfoy Manor, and the only one that Narcissa had spoken to for more than ten minutes or so. She did wonder what Hermione's manners were like, but she'd coped with many a faux pas from guests before. Voldemort had always been a very rude man, even before he had become scaly and started shedding scales on the drawing room carpet.

Dinner was likely to be the tricky point, but once placed in her seat there should be very little chance for errors – surely everyone knew the rule about starting at the outside of the cutlery and working your way in.

Narcissa could hear the bass rumble of Severus' voice as he came along the corridor: no doubt he was issuing instructions to the poor girl. It was almost enough to make you feel sorry for her.

And once you saw the hair, well, you thanked god that those genes wouldn't be running in the Malfoy family, and wondered whether it might not be a kindness to mention the name of your own hairdresser to her. She'd have to ask Lucius quite how far they were prepared to go to forge an alliance with the girl, before introducing her to Madame Martine.

"There you are, Severus. How nice to see you again," Narcissa said, rising to greet him. She placed two kisses in the general region of each cheek.

"Narcissa," he acknowledged. "And may I introduce Hermione Granger?"

"Granger?" she asked quizzically.

"Yes, indeed," Severus said. "Albus has some idea that it would be bad for discipline if Hermione were to use her married name, so Granger she remains for now."

Well, that answered that question. Severus was perfectly serious about Hermione being his wife, and would expect her to be treated with courtesy. How very interesting.

"I think he had a point, Severus," Hermione said. "I should think the other teachers would hesitate to take points off Mrs Snape in the classroom. Not to mention the way it would have made my house mates nervous."

"And I, of course, live to make Gryffindors happy."

"Not that I've noticed," Hermione replied. "But then, you're not the one who would have to put up with the constant whining."

Severus didn't smile a lot, but when he was amused, as he was now, the skin round his eyes would crinkle, as if he wanted to smile but couldn't. His expression stiffened when a voice came from behind them – Lucius.

"Miss Granger must give credit, where credit is due: he has at last managed to make one Gryffindor deliriously happy, if rumour is to be believed." He was standing in the doorway, deliberately striking a pose with one shoulder propped against the doorjamb.

"Rumour lies," Severus said shortly.

"I was certainly very grateful not to have to marry Draco," Hermione said, almost at the same time. "If that's what you mean."

Hermione had never been one for obfuscation or for political manoeuvring, though she was capable of stitching up someone if necessary. However, the Malfoys were in a class of their own when it came to double dealing and that she would need all the help she could get. She was clearly going to have to buy Severus almost the entire contents of Honeydukes to make up for this.

She only hoped it was worthwhile, though she had her doubts as to how useful the Malfoy's would or could be: they had hardly been committed to equal rights for Muggleborns in the past, and he was too much to hope that they had turned over a new leaf having seen the error of their ways. They were very clearly after something, she would just have to work out what that something was and then work out whether she was prepared to pay that price.

Hermione hoped that she looked unimpressed, and not overawed or shamefaced. She wasn't presenting herself as some sort of supplicant for his favours, but a pact on the basis of mutual interest, which meant that she didn't have to be nice to Lucius, and he certainly didn't have to be nice to her.

She'd succeeded in disconcerting him; there was no immediate witty retort, just a quiet and thorough examination of her, as if he'd never seen her before. He probably hadn't paid a great deal of attention to her in the past, dismissing her as Potter's sidekick, and never really forming an opinion on what she was like. He hadn't needed to but now, since they were about to get into bed together, or at least were considering the prospect, he was being more careful in his assessment of her. (And that was a truly nasty metaphor in this context, and one she wasn't going to think of ever again if she could help it.)

"That was almost rude," Lucius replied eventually, though he didn't seem particularly offended. He was too busy being amused at Severus' reaction to mentioning the rumours about his active sex life. "And that's really no way to behave when you come seeking favours. How very unsubtle. Severus, however do you cope?"

Well that put her firmly in her place, didn't it?

His voice was lighter than Severus' and would sound pleasant if you didn't hear the undercurrent of contempt. Severus may be equally sarcastic, but at least he paid you the courtesy of engaging with you when he snarled at you; Lucius was clearly above it all.

"Mostly I find it rather pleasant," Severus replied. "Predictability has its own charms. And of course the full-frontal assault is rather refreshing after a lifetime of having to watch my back."

Lucius and Severus exchanged identical thin-lipped smiles.

She should be feeling crushed and awkward, in the face of so much condescension but she'd never really seen the point of being subtle when getting straight to the point could save a lot of difficulty. And if you compared the success of subtlety versus bluntness she had to say she was ahead of the game: they'd won the War, she was not married to Draco, and she wasn't the one under house arrest.

So there.

Narcissa found the exchanges interesting. Lucius was too quick to fall back into old habits and start sparring with Severus, passing over Miss Granger as being too young and inexperienced to be a nuisance. She would have to mention that to him later. In the meantime, there was tea and cake to be served.

It would probably be for the best if everyone had their mouths kept full for the next hour or so. She was determined that this weekend would go well. She liked Pansy and had been looking forward to welcoming her into the family – eventually.

Hermione was a forthright and formidably intelligent witch, who would obviously go far, provided she could be persuaded to stop being forthright. She would make a valuable ally in the cut and thrust of wizarding society, but an uncomfortable daughter-in-law. She would no doubt have progressive views on the raising of children, and Narcissa would have been compelled to go along with them until she'd seen sense and bowed to the voice of experience.

There was only a certain amount of grizzling and nappies that someone could take before they snapped and realised that grandparents should really see more of their little darlings, whilst mummy went off and rediscovered the joys of shopping, reading or gin, according to taste.

Narcissa had been looking forward to that, reassured in the knowledge that there were always house elves on hand to take over if things became a little fragrant.

Narcissa hadn't wanted to welcome a Muggle into her home, but Grandchildren would have been some compensation for the marriage. Now that the immediate threat had been removed, it was important that Lucius concentrated on the important task of getting the law overturned so she could have the daughter-in-law she preferred.

"Tea, darling?" she asked Lucius.

Severus and Lucius disengaged their horns, and separated to sofas on opposite sides of the fireplace. Lucius was looking imperturbable – a sure sign of being perturbed – whilst Severus looked as if he were enjoying a private joke. He probably was: Severus' sense of humour was notoriously warped.

Hermione took a seat next to Severus. Narcissa passed her a cup of tea for Severus, and then one for herself.

"Would you like a biscuit, Miss Granger?" Narcissa said.

"Thank you," Hermione said demurely, and helped herself to a custard cream which she perched on the edge of her saucer.

Narcissa thought it was in very poor taste not to use a plate, with doily, as provided, but at least they were spared the indignity of dunking. One of Lucius' minions had been invited to tea once, and spent the afternoon dunking her best biscuits into the dark brew the House Elves had produced when he had rejected the Earl Grey as being too poncy. He'd never darkened her doors again, mercifully, and he and Lucius conducted their business in a shady pub somewhere in Muggle London, which suited everybody well.

Conversation flagged. Narcissa had a fund of small talk that she could produce in these situations, but Hermione was unlikely to appreciate being regaled with stories about people she'd never met. Severus was unlikely to be more receptive and would treat them all to a discussion of the character failings of the person being discussed. This was only amusing for the first fifteen minutes – after that even a master of invective like Severus tended to repeat himself – and only the first time you heard it.

Narcissa couldn't think of a single topic that would be suitable. She could hardly talk about Draco's performance at school in front of Hermione who was most likely doing better, as that would irritate Lucius. She couldn't ask Severus how he was enjoying teaching, because that would irritate him. She had no idea what you talked to Muggleborns about at all – fellytision, perhaps. She made a mental note to take Hermione on one side and find out what would be acceptable to chat about. In this brave new world Muggleborns were going to become more and more influential, and it was always best to be prepared.

Draco's arrival, somewhat flushed and in the company of Pansy, was a welcome relief. It was unlikely that he'd remember to be on his best behaviour for long, but even if he did fall out with Hermione there were unlikely to be any serious repercussions. From what she could gather the pair had been at each others throats for years.

He checked, surprised to see Hermione, and then continued to plant a careful kiss on his mother's cheek. She smiled up at him fondly. He was such a good boy, and so like his father in looks. He was bound to be a credit to the family once he had got over his tendency to jump in to any situation with wand drawn and hexes flying. Lucius certainly hoped so, though Draco didn't seem that much different from the over-excitable teenager she remembered Lucius being when he was younger. It had taken him many years to become the smooth-tongued Slytherin he was today, something he conveniently tended to forget.

Draco dutifully settled Pansy on the sofa next to his father, and fetched her a cup of tea. Pansy, always a polite girl, smiled briefly at Lucius and Narcissa and then sipped at her tea demurely.

An awkward silence descended on the room.

Lucius and Severus were glowering at each other across the divide, rendered mute by their desire to reach some sort of accommodation. Draco was keeping quiet for fear of putting his foot in it, and Pansy and Narcissa couldn't think of a single thing to say that would not precipitate disaster.

For once, in her long career as a hostess, she'd been outfaced.

Lucius was out of reach, so she couldn't kick him to remind him of his duty as host -- and pass the responsibility on very neatly -- so they were doomed to sit there in silence until the dinner bell, whereupon they would all troop into dinner, where only the sound of scraped plates would disturb the ghastly quiet.

She was staring social disaster in the face, and the insane urge to say something stupid and tactless was building, and in any moment she was going to ask whether there was any truth to the rumour that Muggles had tails, just for the sheer relief of saying anything at all when Hermione spoke.

"Did you have a nice Christmas, Pansy?"

It was a stupid question -- it was dull, and bland – and it was just what was required.

"We did, thank you. I expect you were glad to go home and see your parents," Pansy replied.

And that was a slightly pointed question in return: not rude but pushing for information. Narcissa felt a rush of affection for the girl; she really would make a good Malfoy wife.

Hermione flicked a glance and Severus before replying, so she'd sensed that the question wasn't entirely innocent. "I do miss my parents, of course; Severus was busy atHogwarts and could only get away for Boxing Day, but my parents were pleased to see him."

Narcissa doubted that they were pleased to find their daughter married to her teacher, so his invitation must have been closer to a demand that he present himself for inspection. That much was clear – what was surprising was that he had done so.

"I'm sure you enjoyed that, Severus," Lucius said. "Christmas is a time for family, after all."

Narcissa would have to make sure she sat closer to Lucius after dinner, because that deserved a hearty kick: you did not mention family in front of Severus.

"Do you think so?" Hermione asked. "My paternal grandmother is a complete nightmare, and I'm afraid we were very pleased when she decided to go on a world cruise this year. I rather think it depends on the family; sometimes you are better off without them."

Severus didn't look pleased at the intervention on his behalf, after all he was perfectly capable of looking after himself, but it was interesting that he didn't look offended either. Severus was a notoriously prickly individual, who was perfectly capable of taking offence at the slightest opportunity, and very happy to inform people when they had done so; if he was prepared to accept Hermione standing up for him in that way, then he was fonder of her then they had realised.

Lucius was also intrigued by a Hermione's contribution, and spent the next few minutes in observing her, allowing the conversation to move along without him. This was just as well, as the constant sniping was beginning to get on her nerves.

She was immensely grateful when the House Elf arrived to announce the arrival of her other guests to take up the strain of the conversation, and shortly afterwards dinner was served. She was getting too old for this, and her nerves couldn't take much more discussion of the weather. She hadn't realised quite how much the conversation at her usual dinner parties had revolved around complaining about the inferiorities of Muggles – it was frightfully hard to think of anything else to talk about.

Hermione had been aware that there had been undercurrents in that little conversation, but she could only guess what they were, but Severus hadn't been glaring at her, so it seemed likely that she hadn't made too many mistakes. She hadn't expected to like Lucius Malfoy, and her expectation stood every chance of being realised. He had no redeeming features that she could see, other than the fact his wife and son liked him, and they were very clearly deranged.

Narcissa kept staring at her as if she was going to commit some awful social solecism at any moment, as if she'd never used a knife and fork before and would be eating from a dish on the floor. No doubt she would have been if they'd had their way. She'd certainly never been confronted with a choice of four implements with which to eat her fish, but it was easy enough to wait until someone else had started their meal and follow their lead.

She managed to negotiate the fish course without difficulty: she had had this horrible vision of using too much force to separate the flesh from the bones and of sending the entire corpse skittering across the table to come to rest in the lap of Lucius Malfoy, but disaster had been avoided. She'd been able to devote almost all her attention to the tricky task of de-boning as conversation had been desultory: some sort of truce appeared to have been reached, though she couldn't say quite why or when this had happened. She was merely grateful for the chance to draw breath, and recoup her forces for the new assault which would begin again as soon as the desert course was finished. At least she was able to enjoy the chocolate soufflé in peace, and it was a truly marvellous chocolate soufflé.

It was so good, she almost regretted turning Draco down.

Almost.

She had two after dinner mints; she needed them.

She had done her best in the face of the most appalling provocation not to Hex anybody, and deserved the order of Merlin herself just for refraining from throttling the little shit she had sat next to dinner. It seemed that he hadn't realised that she was a Muggleborn, doubtless because Muggleborn's did not go to Malfoy Manor, and therefore had spent the whole cheese course holding forth on precisely why they shouldn't be allowed to remain in the Wizarding World. Surely, no one would have blamed her if she'd have stabbed him in the back of the hand with a fork.

She had half expected for ladies to retire, leaving the gentlemen to their port, but apparently Narcissa was unwilling to turn her back on her husband for that long, the so they all returned to the Drawing-room for coffee. Hermione was grateful when Narcissa suggested that she might like to see the library -- at least she wouldn't have to try and make polite conversation for the next hour or so until it was bedtime.

"Draco dear, perhaps you'd care to show Mrs Snape the library. I'm sure she'd like to see it."

"Yes, mother," Draco agreed with very bad grace, casting a longing look at Pansy, who had been trapped in a corner by an old woman who had the look of family about her. Hermione wondered if she'd ever be able to master that note of command that seemed to come naturally to all mothers and wives. He could just imagine Severus' reaction if she ever moved from cajoling and bribing to nagging – she'd have to check her morning tea for poison.

She dutifully followed Draco down a long corridor, which had well-worn wood panels to waist height and blue damask wallpaper above, lit by softly glowing lamps that she assumed were magical. She hardly supposed that the Malfoys had allowed the house to be wired for electricity.

There was a large oak door at the end of the corridor, with large iron hinges and studs. It reminded her of a Muggle horror film, the sort of door you would expect Count Dracula to be lurking behind it, or at the very least to open with an ominous squeal. It was disappointingly quiet - Narcissa had probably bullied it into silence – but there was nothing disappointing about the bookshelves lining the room.

Hermione was largely unmoved by power and wealth, but seeing the Malfoy Library made her rethink that attitude. Running the Wizarding World might be dull and tedious, but if it allowed you to accumulate a collection of books like this, it would be worth it.

"It's always the same," Draco said bitterly, interrupting her communion with the books. "Being shoved out of the room like a child whenever there is anything important going on. Doesn't it bother you?"

"I expect Severus will tell me anything I need to know," Hermione said absent-mindedly; there were several books that she was itching to get her hands on.

"Severus, eh?"

"Do you call him Professor Snape outside of Hogwarts?"

"No, of course not! I don't call him Severus either," he added more quietly.

Hermione dragged her attention away from the books – there was a Krevington and she'd wanted to read that for ages – and back to Draco. "Well what do you call him?"

"Sir."

Hermione realised that Draco was faintly resentful of her and her new relationship, such as it was, with his Professor Snape. She'd always thought that Draco was a little creep, sucking up to Snape for better marks, but he seemed to genuinely like him. Perhaps, from the other side of the classroom, she'd looked like the creep; she'd certainly tried hard enough to get good marks. It was odd to suddenly see yourself through someone else's eyes.

"People would think it was a bit odd if I was calling him sir," she said. "Even if I'm fairly certain he'd prefer it. I still call him Professor in class, or in front of the other students. Can you imagine what they'd say if I started calling him darling or sweetheart?"

Draco grinned. "I think they'd die of shock."

"And so would he. And after Madam Pomfrey managed to resuscitate him, I'd get detention for the rest of my life, probably with Filch, and it would take weeks of apologising before he'd ever forgive me. I'm not sure there are enough cockroach clusters in the world to get me back into his good books after that."

"Are you in his good books at all, Granger?"

It was a good question, and one to which she wasn't sure she had an answer. "Perhaps," she shrugged. "All I know is that I'm very grateful he agreed to marry me. No offence."

"None taken. I, too, am very grateful that he agreed to marry you. No offence."

"None taken," Hermione replied cheerfully. "Though, for your sake, it's a good job I hadn't seen the Library before your oh-so-flattering proposal."

"Erm, you are joking right?"

Hermione wondered briefly at the mystical process that had turned Lucius – who must have been this young and gullible once – into the person he was today. In ten or twenty years Draco could well end up looking like his father, but that was all. He lacked that ruthless streak that was so evident in Lucius, and even in Severus, though she preferred not to dwell on that too much.

Were Death Eaters chosen for their lack of conscience, or was it something that sneaked up on them as they were gradually lured into doing worse and worse things until one day you'd done so much harm to so many people that you were inured to it? Did they truly not see where that road would lead them?

Dealing with such people made her uneasy. She could understand a certain determination to get things done, and was even prepared to risk her life for a cause, but when did that tip over into a willingness to hurt people?

She'd done things to protect Harry that had seemed the right thing to do at the time, but had come back to haunt her since, and she had her doubts whether dealing with the enemy could do the same.

Could she really trust the Malfoys? Well, that was a silly question - obviously she shouldn't trust them. Could she rely on them to stick to their word and not stab her in the back – literally or metaphorically – before the job was done.

"Did you ever think what it would be like if Voldemort won?" she asked.

Draco nodded. "I thought that you'd all be sent back to where you came from and we'd close the borders."

"I don't think that was what he had in mind at all," Hermione said. "He couldn't take the risk, could he? What if someone blabbed about it? What if the secret of the Wizarding World got out?"

Draco ran a finger along the edge of the table, seemingly intent on the patina. "Obliviate?" he said, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Really? Just take all the Muggleborns, even the ickle firsties and just push them over the borders? No, I think he had something altogether more permanent in mind."

"Dad would never… he'd never do that. Not kill people… not kill them in cold blood. Not kill children."

Your dad, she wanted to say, had a bloody good go at doing just that during the Final Battle, but there was probably some weird rule of etiquette that said you shouldn't say things like that about your host, even if they were true. She shrugged. "I don't suppose he would have had a lot of choice when it came down to it. Voldemort didn't strike me as the sort of person who stood for dissension in the ranks, and once you'd joined up, you joined up for life."

Draco looked troubled, and she almost felt sorry for him. It must be a shock to realise that your father was capable of true evil, no matter how nice he was to you and your mum. "But he didn't … he was cleared at his trial."

"Largely because I'd made sure he spent the evening lying on his back spark out, which conveniently allowed him to claim he was only coming to save his wife and child from the terrible Voldemort. No one could say otherwise could they?"

"You hexed my Dad? You actually hexed my Dad."

Hermione nodded.

"I don't believe you. How did you manage that? He's not a bloody amateur and you're not that good."

Hermione sat down abruptly, resting on the edge of the table. "It was convenient wasn't it?" she said softly, almost to herself. "Too convenient by far."

"What do you mean?"

"You're bas…blasted father set me up! He allowed… no, he wanted me to hex him That way he could wash his hands of the whole dirty business if Voldemort fell. The conniving, two-faced ..."

Hermione felt like the stuffing had been knocked out of her. She'd always been secretly proud of the fact that she'd managed to take out one of the most dangerous Death Eaters to follow Voldemort, and how well she'd done to sneak up behind him and hex him before he had a chance to draw his wand. But the truth was that he'd practically stood there and begged her to do it. She felt…peeved… and cheated. It was if she'd been given a mark in an exam that she wasn't entitled to.

"Bugger," she said. "Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger. And bugger again."

"Really, Miss Granger, is it such a disappointment to you?" Lucius said from behind her.

Of course he would be in a position to overhear that, she thought bitterly. She turned to face him: he was standing in the doorway looking as superior as ever, and she was filled with the urge to hex him properly this time.

She stuffed that thought firmly to the back of her mind, just in case Lucius practiced the art of Legilimency too, and found she had nothing to say that wouldn't make things worse.

So she said nothing.

It was a pity Severus wasn't here to see it, she reflected sourly; he would have enjoyed it immensely.

Narcissa knew that Lucius had been playing his usual tricks from the moment that Hermione joined them for a last nightcap before bed. The other guests had been efficiently packed off home, to talk amongst themselves about the Mudblood guest the Malfoys had been entertaining and speculate about the reasons for doing so.

It wasn't an open declaration of support for Hermione – as she supposed she ought to get used to thinking of her – but it put them in a position to be able to move on the issue if it became necessary.

It also allowed them to drop the girl like a stone if Lucius decided she wasn't worth the aggravation.

Much as she hoped that Lucius would elect to take the easy option, the fact that he was bothering to play games with the girl suggested that they would be taking her under their wing for at least a while.

"Brandy, Severus?" Lucius offered.

"If it's the good stuff, and not the muck you foist off on the Ministry officials."

"You'll notice I'm drinking from the same decanter," Lucius replied, pouring a glass for himself and Severus.

"That had not escaped my notice," Severus smirked, accepting the glass.

Draco looked at his mother hopefully: was he allowed a glass?

He was. He was an adult in Wizarding terms, and this was the perfect time for him to take his first stumbling steps on the road to politics: their opponents … allies… were challenging but not dangerous.

"And you Miss Granger, would you care for some brandy?"

The polite thing to do was to decline and settle for a cup of tea.

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy."

Narcissa had a wicked, if well-hidden, sense of humour, and she would have enjoyed watching the girl knock back the brandy as if it were water. Lucius would have had a fit, but would have had to smile through it, and would have made him delightfully fractious and in need of soothing later.

And she did enjoy soothing Lucius so much.

Disappointingly, the girl had the sense to swirl the balloon glass in the accepted manner, before taking a delicate sip and expressing her approval. "Very nice," she said. "Now, are you going to tell me what you've decided to do?"

"Obviously we need to remove the Minister, and replace him with someone more sympathetic to our aims," Severus said.

"Unfortunately, said removal will have to be effected by entirely lawful means as Severus has rejected several quite possible strategies on the basis that they would land us all in Azkaban," Lucius said, inspecting his fingernails. "One does so pine for the old days when you could buy Ministers by the pound."

"So we're looking for what you might call a compromise candidate," Severus added. "Someone that both sides can unite behind in an upswelling of popular opinion."

"This is more difficult than we had expected." Lucius began counting off suggestions on his fingers. "Initially, we did think of Potter, but although Severus assures me that he is sufficiently stupid to make a suitable figurehead, and he would certainly be popular enough, he is incapable of following simple instructions."

"Harry isn't stupid," Hermione replied, "but he is inclined to react first and think later. I can see that this would lead to problems."

"Our second thought was that I myself could stand – your endorsement would override any trifling difficulties over my previous associations but Severus felt that such an endorsement would not be forthcoming."

"He was right," she said shortly.

"That does present something of a flaw in an otherwise unobjectionable plan," Lucius said, nodding his head. "Which brings us to something of an impasse."

"How about a woman?" Hermione asked. "After all, this law is directed against women, who better to take a stand against it?"

"I think you're a little young to be considered for the position," Lucius replied. "Though your ambition is to be commended."

"I didn't mean me," she said impatiently. "Someone else, someone older."

"It is a possibility, though women are so rarely tractable, and that was one of the qualities we were looking for in a Minister." Lucius smiled affectionately at Narcissa, "though obviously a certain independence of spirit is valued in a wife."

"Not that I've noticed," Severus said sourly.

"How about Narcissa?" Hermione suggested.

Severus and Lucius turned as one to stare at Hermione for a long second, and then turned, almost as one, to Narcissa who shifted in her seat, a little uneasy at this attention. Many thought her a vain woman, but she'd always been content to be the moon to her husband's sun. Lucius, she was touched to see, hadn't dismissed the idea out of hand, but was waiting for her opinion on the matter.

Did she want to be Minister?

She might be able to order things better than the present incumbent, but there was nothing unique in that – a House Elf could do better. Did she want the aggravation of trying to get things done? Did she really want to work that hard? She'd heard the complaints of Fudge's wife about the hours her husband worked, though unkind persons wondered whether that was more to get away from her than commitment to the job at hand, but even if that were only half the truth she wouldn't see much of her family.

No, she didn't want to be Minister. She liked the view from the sidelines, and helping things along here and there, but she didn't have the burning reforming zeal of Hermione to see her through the long and lonely nights.

"I think that someone else might be a wiser choice," she said gently. "A pureblood of course, but someone who supported Harry Potter, and not opposed him. I think Minerva McGonagall would do perfectly."

"She might at that," said Severus thoughtfully. "I'm sure Potter could be persuaded to back her. There isn't a breath of scandal about her, and she's as straight as a die.."

"… which may cause difficulties," interrupted Lucius.

"…but not as much as having a cretin in charge," Severus continued. "I don't think there's a Wizard or Witch under 50 who hasn't been taught by her, and doesn't hold her in the highest regard. They all trust her, because at some point or another, she will have wiped their noses or charmed their knees better."

"Or given them detention," murmured Lucius, with a faint smile. "And that could work to our advantage as well. Deep down, at some subconscious level, they'd be worried that if they didn't vote for her that they'd be spending a couple of hours in the Trophy Room scrubbing the House Cups."

"But would she do it?" Hermione asked.

"Just leave that to me," Severus replied. "If we put it to her in the right way – appeal to her sense of duty and justice – then she'll do it."

"You really do know how to handle Gryffindors, don't you, Severus?" Lucius said under his breath, for Severus' ears only. Severus smirked: he couldn't deny it.

"Six weeks after becoming Minister, she'll have the law overturned," Severus said, contemplating the prospect with nothing short of glee.

"And then we can get happily divorced," Hermione said with satisfaction.

"Hermione!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, are we supposed to be pretending to be happily married?" Hermione said blandly. "Ooops."

"And you expect me to help you to overthrow the Minister," Lucius said. "We don't stand a chance."

Severus cast his eyes to the ceiling in a silent plea for strength.

"Oh come off it." Hermione put her glass down, and waved her hand in dismissal. "My job is to make sure that Harry turns up to whatever we want him to do when we want him to do it. Mr Malfoy's job is to deliver the Pureblood power bloc. None of that requires me to be tactful or decorative – mine is very firmly a backstage role."

"And what does Severus do in all this?" Lucius asked, looking like the prize Persian lapping at the finest cream.

"Why, Severus is here to make sure that I don't get double-crossed. After all, he's had to deal with both Lord Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore, which gives him the edge when dealing with slippery customers."

"I do hope you don't include me in that category."

"Mr Malfoy, whilst I would hardly apply such a vulgar term to you, it can't be denied that you should be tucked up safely in Azkaban at the moment. The fact that you aren't, and due to my intervention as well, suggests that you are a … political operator of the highest order. Even if you do agree to help overturn this law, there will come a point when you think that you don't need me any more… " Hermione shrugged eloquently. "Still," she said brightly, "at least you don't have to pretend that you like me. That must be a pleasant change for you."

Narcissa thought that she'd gone too far, and could see an evening spent persuading Lucius that they needed the girl too much to allow her bad manners to get in the way, when, to her surprise, her husband began to laugh: not the polite smile he used in the company of others, but the rich laughter he usually reserved for his family.

"I think," he said eventually, "that I am going to enjoy your foray into the world of politics a great deal. If nothing else, we should be able to eliminate a great deal of the opposition by the sheer shock of someone being honest for once. And the consternation you generate will be the perfect cover for any more convoluted strategies that I…"

Severus coughed pointedly.

"… and your husband should concoct."

Narcissa didn't say anything. She was busy running through the list of ladies that were still talking to her, and making a list of who she should invite round for tea.

Hermione had suddenly reminded her of her sister – that same determination and commitment to a cause above her own well being – and Lucius had always had a blind spot when it came to dealing with people like that. If you couldn't work out where the levers were on people, then you couldn't work out where to press to get what you wanted, and Lucius had no understanding of Devotion to Duty.

Somebody had to make sure that this little project didn't go to hell in a handcart, and it looked like she'd just been selected for the role.


	19. In which there is frisson

Hermione excused herself from the cabal as soon as was possible without being rude. She'd got what she'd come for – probably – and now wanted to get out before she said something to put the fragile détente at risk. Severus remained behind to soak up as much of the presumably excellent brandy– it tasted like paint stripper to her, though she wouldn't dream of saying so –and catch up on the news and gossip about the wider Wizarding World.

It didn't take long to get ready for bed, but once she was there she found that she couldn't get to sleep. Her mind was leaping ahead and trying to make plans and fit them into neat categories, colour-coded for ease of reference, and indexed alphabetically.

She knew from bitter experience that she wouldn't be able to sleep until she'd sorted everything out in her own mind, so she got some paper out of her case and sat at the dressing table to write up her notes.

She was eventually disturbed by sounds of movement in the adjoining room. She stared at her reflection for several minutes, considering the wisdom of trying to talk to Severus. On the one hand, if she talked things through with him she might be able to get to sleep. On the other hand, it would involve knocking on the connecting door, which might lead to an argument, and he might refuse to discuss things where they might be overheard.

Oh sod it, if he wasn't prepared to put her mind at rest, he might at least be able to get her a nice, hot milky drink which might help her sleep.

She tapped on the door, which opened a crack. "What do you want?" he hissed.

"I can't sleep."

"I hope you don't expect me to sing you a lullaby," he said, putting his head round the door. "I'm not … what on earth are you wearing?"

"Nothing."

"I can see that." His dispassionate gaze raked her from head to foot, taking in the cream satin nightgown and matching wrap. "Did you intend to make the ultimate sacrifice and seduce Lucius?"

Hermione flushed bright red, and wrapped her dressing gown round her more firmly. "Don't be absurd. Anyone would think I was wearing something tarty in leopard skin print with red lace trim and a slit up to the thigh. You can't see anything."

Hermione was mortified. She'd bought the ensemble – something with that amount of lace had to be an ensemble, especially when you considered the price – so that she'd feel grown-up and sophisticated and hopefully a little less out of her depth. All she felt now was irritated, which was better than feeling juvenile, but only marginally.

"No", he continued, still staring at her chest in horrified fascination, "but it is being hinted at in a way that your normal night attire doesn't do, and there aren't any fluffy sheep in sight. I just wondered who was supposed to get the benefit?"

"The House Elves," she snapped. "I didn't want them running off to tell Narcissa that I wore flannel pyjamas and a pink fluffy dressing gown with a rabbit on the pocket that my parents got me for Christmas three years ago. She seemed just the sort of woman who would wear nothing but silk, and patronise lesser mortals who didn't make an effort."

"Women do worry about the oddest things," he said, leaning to one side, with his shoulder against the doorway. "Why should you care what Narcissa thinks about clothes that she'll never see personally?"

"Says the man wearing his new dressing gown I got him for Christmas – does this mean that you were going to model it for her?" she snapped back.

"Don't even joke about something like that," he said, eyes wide in horror. "If Lucius even thought… Christ, he'd go potty. I really don't fancy being found distributed over Diagon Alley in several bloody pieces. And that's assuming that they'd find them all."

"Is that part of the Pureblood code then?"

"I don't know about the Pureblood code," he said seriously. "But it's certainly part of the Malfoy code."

"Men do worry about the oddest things," she replied, mocking his earlier words. "It does look good though; I was worried it wouldn't fit properly and had to guess your size." She put a hand out to stroke the sleeve. "The velvet is nice and soft as well."

He was looking at her with a very strange expression: half gratified, and half uncertain. It was rare for them to spend time together in close proximity, and he was still uneasy about the prospect. "It's nice and warm," he said eventually, "which is more than can be said for your outfit. Are you going to put something else on?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake! If it will make you happier, I'll put on a cardigan." She went to the wardrobe and rummaged around, trying to find the big cardigan she'd brought in case they'd decided to go for a walk in the gardens. "Have you been drinking?" she asked, her head still in the wardrobe.

"I might have," he said, sounding just like Harry and Ron at their sulkiest. "Why?"

She found the long, thick, warm and utterly sexless cardigan – at least it was black, which could pass for some attempt at sophistication if you didn't look at it too closely - and shrugged into it. It covered her from shoulder to knee, and the sleeves dropped over her hands and had to be folded back several times to form thick cuffs. "You're taking an inordinate interest in my nightie," she said, "and you seem to be leaning from the vertical."

He pushed himself off the door with his shoulder and stood up more or less straight. "Not that it's any of your business, but I may have had the odd drink with Lucius, purely in the interests of furthering your…our plans. There's no need to go on about it."

Hermione grinned at him. "I'm your wife; I'm sure it's in the job description. If your husband comes home a little squiffy, you're supposed to nag and make his life a misery, and confiscate his hangover potion so he learns his lesson."

"I don't get hangovers," he said smugly. "I never have and I never will."

"I expect it would make you very happy to know that Harry gets terrible hangovers, even after half a shandy. It took him a full week to recover after the getting his Order of Merlin, and all he had was two Firewhiskeys."

He gazed off into the middle distance with a broad smile. It was almost the happiest she'd ever seen him, she reflected wryly.

It was going to be interesting trying to get Harry and Severus to work together – communication by Owl with as few actual meetings as possible seemed the best course – even before you mentioned the Malfoy connection. She sighed. It all seemed so very difficult suddenly: a ragtag assemblage of people who couldn't stand to be in the same room with each other were supposed to band together to get the Marriage Law overturned. It was going to take nothing short of a miracle; either that, or several compromising pictures of people in a state of undress with donkeys, and could she bring herself to be that cruel to donkeys? She was too soft-hearted for her own good.

"Do you think that this is really going to work?" she asked.

"Who can say? I think we've made a good start, but whether we'll succeed or not?" He shrugged.

"I was looking for a little more reassurance than that," she said waspishly. "Couldn't you pat me on the head and tell me it's all going to be alright?"

"Ah, you mean lie to you, just like Dumbledore used to do. I could do, if that's what you want." He moved closer to her, and placed a heavy hand on the top of her head. It felt strangely comforting. She could feel the warmth of his body, and smell the faint tang of brandy on his breath, mixed with some minty smell that was probably toothpaste of some sort.

"Don't worry, Hermione," he said, patting her a little awkwardly. "It'll all be fine. Lucius is a fine upstanding member of Wizarding Society, Fudge is merely a misguided but fundamentally well-meaning man, and will see the error of his ways. We will be able to get a divorce before you finish school. You will go on to run the Wizarding World before you're thirty, and I will take up with a succession of friendly and buxom wenches who will pander to my every whim."

Hermione snorted. "Lucius is a shifty sod, and Fudge is a fu-fool, and I can't see any witch – no matter how friendly – being prepared to pander to anyone's whims. No matter how much you might deserve it."

"You really ought not to insult your host." He reached out and tugged at one of her curls, before tucking it behind her ear. "I notice you don't deny that you'll be running the Wizarding World by 30."

"Someone has to sort this mess out," she replied, unconsciously leaning a little closer.

"It doesn't have to be you though," he said, his voice rumbling above her head.

"I can't see how else I'm going to get out of this mess."

"You might find that, if you create enough of a fuss that Fudge is prepared to do a deal with you and find some technicality that means that the Marriage Law doesn't apply to bushy-haired brunettes with dentists for parents whose names begin with H."

"I couldn't do that – just give up because I'd got what I wanted. I couldn't. It wouldn't be right." Hermione paused, struck by the realisation that Severus might want to be free of her as soon as possible. "You wouldn't want me to, would you?" She looked up at him anxiously.

"I certainly wouldn't expect you to," he said wryly. "You've never been sensible at any point in the previous seven years; I see no reason why you would start being so now. It's the terrible burden of having a conscience. I'd recommend that you give it up as soon as possible. It'll make you feel a lot better." Severus hands stilled mid-way through another pat, and he disengaged himself from her, before moving over to the dressing table and flipping absent-mindedly through her notes.

"But… being married to me isn't that horrible is it?" she asked, ignoring his comments in favour of pursuing what seemed to her to be the real point of concern. "I'll be out of your hair soon, and you can have your rooms back, so it won't make much difference to you anyway…" Hermione didn't know why she felt so worried about the subject. Surely she wasn't upset at the thought of being divorced? It was what they were aiming for, wasn't it?

"Don't be silly," he said acidly, and that tone – the one that said you were being so stupid that being able to walk and talk at the same time was probably beyond you, and shouldn't you have been sorted into Hufflepuff - made her feel immeasurably better. "I'm just pointing out that you don't have to be noble and put the interests of others before your own."

"Which is why you spent so much time trying to bring down Voldemort I suppose?" she scoffed. "Because you were looking out for number one?"

"If I wanted to be free of him, then the only way that could happen was if one of us died. I preferred it to be him. There was nothing noble about what I was doing. If there'd been another way I might have taken it." He dropped the notes back down on the dressing table. clearly uncomfortable about the suggestion that he wasn't entirely selfish in his motives.

"Nonsense," she said crisply. "You spent far too much time and effort in trying to bring down Voldemort to be able to pass that off as mere self-interest."

Severus looked as if he'd been offered the Defence Against the Dark Arts position: a combination of shock, pleasure and resentment at praise which had been so long overdue. "I… whatever my reasons were, they aren't important. What is important is the way that you seem to feel bound to sort out other people's problems for them. Fudge isn't Voldemort, so you needn't feel guilty if you take the easy way out. If people aren't prepared to fight for their own freedom, then they probably don't deserve it, but I expect you'll insist on helping them anyway."

"So you don't mind being married to me?" It seemed important to Hermione to make absolutely sure that this was the case.

"I find it… tolerable. Your conversation is nowhere near as irritating as I had expected, you do your best to be as unobtrusive as possible, and your cat is reasonably well behaved. There are worse people that I could be sharing a living space with."

It was hardly a glowing recommendation, but Severus had never been one for fulsome praise. If you made a mistake in potions, he made sure you knew about it, together with the whole class. If you got it right, absolutely right – the perfect colour, the perfect consistency, and it did exactly what it said on the vial – then your work was received in silence.

"Good. Then you'll have to put up with me until this bloody law is overturned and if I have to become the Minister for Magic to get it sorted out, then I will." She felt immensely relieved – she'd counted on Severus to support her, and had felt very nervous at the thought of dealing with the Malfoys on her own, and now she didn't have to. "I wish you wouldn't worry me like that," she said. "I don't want to find myself divorced and out on my ear if you decide I'm too much trouble."

"You've always been too much trouble, Hermione, from the moment you crossed the threshold of Hogwarts to the moment you decided to take on the Ministry. If you can polish off a dark Lord in seven years, I have every faith you'll have this all sorted out in no time at all." He paused beside her as he moved towards the door. "In fact, I might not divorce you after all. I think I'd rather like being the Minister's consort. There's quite a nice official residence, somewhere in Hampshire I believe, and a very generous shoe allowance."

"You can never have too many shoes," she said gravely.

"That certainly seems to be Narcissa's approach to life." He walked through the door, and then turned back to her. "Now, go to bed. We both need our sleep if we're to deal with Lucius tomorrow."

"Yes, Professor," she said, and he shut the door firmly behind him.

She settled herself into bed listening to the sounds of Severus bumping around in the next room, with the occasional muffled curse as a button proved recalcitrant. In many ways, she thought, he was immensely irritating. But, and it was a big but, it was nice to have someone she could rely on for once, instead of having to constantly order around.

And if only one good thing had come out of this trip to Malfoy Manor it was the knowledge that, if bribery with cockroach clusters failed, using her feminine wiles was always a possibility. It was a little depressing that her feminine wiles consisted of wearing advanced lingerie because it unnerved rather than attracted her husband, but you worked with what you had.

Besides, she wouldn't want him to think of her like that, would she?

Breakfast the next morning was a subdued affair.

Severus might not get hangovers, but it appeared that Lucius did, and he looked moderately awful. He didn't have eyes that looked like wee-holes in the snow, he didn't have visibly shaking hands, and he was clean-shaven and impeccably turned out. However, he was moving very, very carefully, which was suggestive rather more of someone who was finding life a little overwhelming, than carefully reigned in power.

Severus was being extremely polite and offering to pass Lucius the chafing dishes of fried eggs, the fried sausages, the fried bacon, and the scrambled eggs, all of which were declined without the faintest hint of distaste.

You had to admire that kind of strength of character.

"You really ought to have some of the eggs, father. They're delicious," Draco said, waving a fork for emphasis.

"You really ought to be nicer to your dear old papa," Lucius replied. "I don't think Pansy has seen your baby photographs, has she?"

Draco winced. "Erm, no, she hasn't."

"I expect you'd like to keep it that way. As I recall there's a very good one of you at about three years of age, on your first broomstick."

Draco turned bright red. "You wouldn't!"

"I remember that," Narcissa said fondly. "You were so proud of your new toy that you didn't wait to get dressed properly before trying it out. "You looked so sweet."

Hermione was struck by a vision of a naked Draco – aged three, she didn't want her eyeballs to melt – swooping round the Drawing Room on his new toy. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on her plate. It wouldn't do to start giggling.

"Muuuum," Draco protested. "Not in front of Granger, please."

"Oh, I'm sure she doesn't mind," Narcissa replied.

"She might not, but I do," Draco protested. "If she tells Potter and Weasley I'll never hear the end of it."

Hermione carefully spread butter on her toast and considered the matter. "I think," she said, "that if I were to tell Harry and Ron that there was a photo of you naked on a broomstick, their first, and let's be honest, their only question would be what make it was. If they ever found out that you'd been given a broomstick when you were three, they would do nothing but whinge for hours about how spoiled you were. It's not worth it."

Draco looked a relieved, if a little doubtful.

"Besides, it would be terribly rude of me to betray a confidence, now that we are on the same side," she said. "Wouldn't it?"

Severus snorted. "You've certainly got a lot to learn about politics, my girl, if that's the way you think it's played. Confidences are supposed to be betrayed. It's practically mandatory."

"That's not entirely accurate," Lucius said, his hands wrapped round his teacup in a death grip. "Sometimes confidences are to be kept so that your confidant will continue to pass on more interesting items of information."

"Only so you can save it up for a really big betrayal," Severus replied.

"That is true," Lucius nodded. "Which does raise the interesting question of what you are intending to tell Mr Potter and Mr Weasley about your visit here, Miss Granger."

Hermione wasn't about to suggest that he should call her Hermione. She was perfectly happy with Mr and Mrs Malfoy, and she suspected that they preferred it that way as well. It was one thing to ask a potential political ally to cross their threshold – the rooms could be Scourgified afterwards – but quite another to be on first name terms.

"The truth, of course," she replied. "They are my best friends and I will not lie to them. Ever."

"It's a novel approach, certainly," Lucius said. "Though are you sure it's wise to tax their limited understanding – according to Severus – with all the complexities?"

"There's no point keeping things back from them," she said, deciding to take the point about 'limited understanding' up with Severus later. It could be Lucius' attempt to sow dissension between them, either on the general principle of divide and rule, or petty revenge for the teasing over breakfast. "It doesn't work: they always find out, and usually the hard way, and it leads to nothing but trouble. If we want them to support Professor McGonagall, I will have to tell what the deal is, and why I think we should go along with it. I won't mislead them in anyway about what we're doing or why we're doing it."

"Yes, Severus said that would be your attitude. That may be a little awkward." Lucius drained the cup of its tea, and then reached for the teapot.

"I don't see why," Hermione replied.

"There may be things we don't want to tell two hotheads," Lucius said. "I gather that they are a trifle over-excitable and have a tendency to leap in head first. That could be disastrous."

"I think you underestimate them both. Ron has a sharp, tactical brain and Harry, for all his tendency to rush into things, has a knack of getting things done. He's also very likeable. You really shouldn't underestimate that," Hermione replied.

"I rather think we were counting on Potter's erm likeability," Lucius said. "But that doesn't mean that I would feel comfortable taking him fully into my confidence. He's far too naïve, sorry, moral to accept certain political realities."

"All it means is that you'll have to tell me lies," Hermione said patiently. "You were planning on doing that anyway, weren't you?"

Lucius froze in the act of pouring the tea and Severus made a peculiar spluttering noise, which he turned into a coughing fit. It fooled no one.

"The possibility had crossed my mind." Lucius smiled faintly, and resumed pouring his tea.

"I think you'd be better advised not to." Hermione shrugged. "At least meet Harry before jumping to any conclusions as to what he's like – an exchange of hexes across a crowded room isn't the best way to get to know someone." It wasn't entirely wise to make the same point to Severus, especially in front of the Malfoys, but it might save a lot of difficulties later. "Nor is teaching them."

Severus scowled at her, and showed no hesitation in quarrelling about the subject in public. "Seven years of teaching the little s…" – Severus realised that Draco was watching with interest and substituted another word for the one he'd first thought of – "…wine is more than enough to provide me with all the information I need on Mr Potter."

"So, there isn't more to you than a bad-tempered teacher, who hates Harry, and is biased in favour of his own House, even though I keep telling Harry that there is?" Hermione asked, determined not to back down.

"Of course there is! And I'm not biased – not any more than Minerva is, anyway!" And then his brain caught up with what his mouth had said, and realised he had effectively admitted that she was right. Well, he wasn't going to let a little thing like that get in the way of winning an argument, and swiftly changed his line of attack. "Are you telling me that you discuss me with the Dopy Duo?"

"Don't be silly. Of course I don't."

Severus, mouth open and poised to say something dismissive, snapped it shut again. "Well, what do you say if they ask about …erm, anything."

The Malfoys were watching the byplay with intense interest, in the same way that lions can watch zebra for hours to spot the weakest member of the herd. Even Lucius' hangover seemed to have faded when faced with the prospect of seeing Severus squirm.

"Severus, they very carefully don't ask in case I _might_ tell them something, because then they might realise that you don't hang upside down from a pole at night, or hang around in dark places sucking the necks of innocent victims, and then their heads might explode."

"And this would be a bad thing?" he asked. "It's a prospect I view with complete equanimity."

"It'd make a dreadful mess, and the House Elves would have to clear it up," Hermione replied.

"I suppose you have a point," Severus replied. "Though we could kill two birds with one stone – as it were – and give the cleaning up to some Gryffindor to do in detention."

"Without magic?"

"Of course."

Hermione thought it was a shame that he didn't smile more often. He was never going to be a handsome man, but a smile did make him much more approachable, pleasant, even. He had nice eyes, when he wasn't scowling.

"You do have some funny ideas about House Elves, Granger," Draco said, and the moment was gone. Lucius, realising that the topic of House Elves was likely to be contentious, and that Hermione wasn't going to be tactful, turned the conversation to the roses in the conservatory and breakfast continued peacefully enough.

The meal having been successfully negotiated without further incident, Lucius suggested that Severus show Hermione the conservatory.

"These," Severus said, "are roses, as I am sure you are aware. That is a chair, and I suggest you sit down and make yourself comfortable. I think Lucius may need a little time alone to recover himself." He took his own advice.

The chairs were big and soft and blowsy, just like the roses; Hermione could imagine sinking down and down in them until they ate her alive. They were very comfortable though. She and Severus were sitting side by side, looking out into the garden, and it reminded her that barely four months ago they'd been sitting in her parents' conservatory trying to come to some agreement about getting married. The Malfoy Conservatory was several times larger than her parents' one, and the lawn stretched on to the edge of the next county. It was so pristine, it looked like the House Elves had ironed it.

Silence descended, almost as cosy as the chairs themselves.

She turned to ask Severus a question, to find that he'd fallen into a doze and appeared far too comfortable to wake. She'd never seen him so defenceless: it didn't make him look younger, or better looking – no one looks good with their mouth half open and faintly snoring – but he did look more like a Severus and less like a Professor Snape.

Professor Snape was a bit of a bully.

Severus was the one with the nice eyes, and the rumbling bass voice. He had a wicked sense of humour, and could be very kind. Severus blushed. Severus liked people. Severus had friends, even if they were the Malfoys.

She quite liked Severus.

She could quite see Severus married and settled down with some kiddies. He'd be a hopeless father, indulgent and over-protective by turns, but he'd slice anyone who dared hurt his family into little pieces, feed them to dragons, and then dance over the resulting mess.

He'd need someone very sensible and practical to be the mother of his children. Someone who'd make sure that they were properly fed, and went to bed at the right time, and weren't allowed to play with dangerous potions' ingredients. She'd definitely have to make sure that the second Mrs Snape was chosen for rather more prosaic qualities than blonde hair and a pneumatic chest.

The room was warm, the heady scent of the roses was overwhelming, and it was so easy to lean back and close her eyes whilst she considered the topic.

Perhaps a nice Hufflepuff, though he might be bored…

And then she was dozing off herself.

Something, some noise, far off in the depths of the house, jerked her awake with a snort. She felt no urge to move – it was probably a house elf dropping something, or some guest visiting the Manor – but Severus shot upright, with his wand drawn before he was fully awake.

"What the fuck was that?" he asked, and she blinked at him in surprise. She'd never heard him swear like that before. A loud banging could then be heard coming from the front door – apparently they had visitors, and unwelcome ones at that since the door wasn't being opened. "Lucius!" he bellowed. "What's going on?"

The Malfoys appeared in the hallway. Lucius came towards them, whilst Narcissa and Draco went in the direction of the library.

"I'm afraid that the Ministry have decided that today would be perfect to make an informal visit," he said, utterly unperturbed by the events. "I do apologise for the inconvenience, but they will take it into their heads to drop by at the most inappropriate times."

Severus' wand vanished back into his robes. "Do you think they know what we're here for?"

Lucius shook his head. "I don't think so. They like to remind me of the terms of my parole from time to time, just to remind me not to get involved with anything illicit I'm sure that their visit is entirely providential."

"What, like trying to take over the Wizarding World and install a puppet Minister to your taste," Severus said sardonically.

"Something like that, yes." Lucius smiled.

The banging continued, getting louder and more frequent; their visitors were getting impatient.

"Are you going to let them in," Hermione asked.

"In a minute or two," Lucius replied. "I've sent for Murbles, but we need to give him some time to get here. He'll soon send them about their business, though we may be in for some interesting times until then."

"If you don't open the door," came a voice, "then we'll have to blast our way in."

"Tsk. Aurors today have no patience. If they carry on like that, they'll scuff the door." Lucius waved peremptorily at the House Elf standing by the door waiting for orders. "Let them in then."

The House Elf was nearly crushed as the door was pushed violently open. Two men rushed in with wands drawn, and took up positions on either side of the hallway. A third man, determined to make a dramatic entrance, or perhaps not prepared to risk being turned into a red smear on the wall, waited until they were in place and then strolled into the Manor.

Hermione wondered if he'd ever seen Muggle films.

"You took your time, Malfoy. Got something to hide?" he scoffed. Hermione wasn't impressed. He hadn't really mastered the art of sneering, as demonstrated by her husband almost daily, and merely looked as if he'd swallowed a wasp. He was a short wizard, probably in his 30's, with robes that were slightly too big for him, and his hair was parted on the side and combed over to hide his balding spot.

"I do apologise," Lucius replied. "I'm afraid I was in the Library and didn't hear you knocking. You know how it is with these big, old houses – sound doesn't travel."

"I'm sure that was very useful in the past," the Auror said. His second sneer was a little more successful.

"It has served to keep the riff-raff at bay," Lucius replied. There was something magnificently offensive about the blandness of his manner. He was all lofty condescension, almost as if he was dealing with a dotty aunt or an uncle with a tendency to steal the silver, rather than someone who had any authority over him. "I'm sorry; I didn't catch your name?"

"Absolom Beaglehole."

Hermione bit her lip; sniggering would be a very bad idea.

"Any relation to Rufus Beaglehole?" Lucius asked, as if he were at the Minister's annual garden party. "He was a couple of years ahead of me at school as I recall."

"My father. He remembers you as well," Auror Beaglehole replied grimly.

"How nice."

"This isn't a social call, Mr Malfoy. We're here to make sure that you're not misbehaving. And I'll need to know who your guests are." He gestured at Hermione and Severus.

"Surely you recognise Professor and Mrs Snape? What is it, an Order of Merlin apiece? And the thanks of a grateful Minister for all your hard work in bringing down the Dark Lord?" Lucius was openly smirking now.

"Oh yes, we know all about Professor Snape. An old friend of yours, isn't he?" Beaglehole replied. "But I don't recognise his charming wife."

"Really, how very odd. Surely you've heard of Hermione Granger?" Lucius was on a roll now, and determined to aggravate the Ministry officials as much as possible.

"Hermione Granger?" Beaglehole said blankly.

"Severus, didn't you announce your nuptials in the Daily Prophet?" Lucius said, feigning reproach. "You must correct that oversight as soon as possible, and let everyone know your glad news. There's no need to be shy."

"I didn't think it was necessary. The way that gossip spreads round the Ministry, I expected half the world to know of it the day after it took place, and the other half to know the day after," he replied.

"You married a Death Eater?" Beaglehole asked, his voice rising. "What were you thinking woman?"

Hermione didn't like being called woman in that snotty tone of voice, as if it were an insult, and she certainly didn't like some Ministry official questioning her choice of husband when it had put her in the position of needing to marry Snape in the first place. She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and concentrated on the pattern in the carpet.

Beaglehole didn't have the sense to leave well enough alone. "How could you betray all those who died to bring down He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named?"

"Me?" Hermione asked, very calmly. "Me, betray them?"

Severus didn't have the same experience as the boys of the danger signals, but you 'd have to be a complete idiot not to realise that Hermione was on the brink of losing her temper.

Beaglehole was an idiot.

"What else can you call it when you take up with his supporters? Don't you have any idea what Malfoy was up to during the War?"

"More than you do, probably," Hermione snapped. "And yet it didn't stop the Ministry passing that stupid bloody law did it? They were quite content to hand me over into the clutches of the Malfoys, and they didn't give a rat's arse whether I spent my time tied up in the dungeons or chained to the bed as long as I was breeding lots of little Witches and Wizards."

She took a step closer to the Auror, and started poking him in the chest to punctuate her words. The other two Aurors exchanged glances but made no move to interfere. "You – poke – are the ones – poke poke – who betrayed us – poke. Where were you – poke – when we faced down Voldemort? – poke - What did you – poke - do in the War? Sit around on your – poke - fat – poke poke - arse all day, drinking tea and filing – poke - reports on cauldron thefts whilst Harry – poke - and Ron – poke - and I went out and did your bloody – poke poke poke - job for you. And then you have the – poke - cheek to stand there and talk about betrayal?"

Beaglehole was retreating before the force of her prodding and was gradually being backed up towards the door. "But… but…"

"But what? You were only obeying orders?" Hermione snarled.

"But what can I do about it?" he wailed.

"That, Mr Beaglehole is a very good question," Lucius said from behind her. "Perhaps, if Miss Granger would allow, we could all sit down and have a cup of tea and discuss the matter."

Beaglehole nodded, grateful to be rescued from the awful harridan, and took the chance to dip beneath Hermione's outstretched arm. Lucius used his outstretched arm to usher him off into the depths of Malfoy Manor to recuperate.

Severus stood by Hermione and put a hand on her shoulder – whether to comfort her or hold her back, she did not know - and said, "And to think that Lucius was congratulating me on having you under control."

"Was he indeed?" she said, vaguely amused, now that her temper had cooled a little.

"The exact phrase was wrapped round my little finger. Little does he know."

"I prefer to think of it as a partnership – two people with one aim," she replied.

"I'm sure you do, though it does seem as if an awful lot of the time I end up doing exactly what you want? Now, why is that?"

"Because you're a sensible person, and you can see that what I'm suggesting is a sensible thing to do?" she said. "Could that be it?"

His hand tightened briefly on her shoulder. "Perhaps that's it."

A bustle at the door attracted their attention. Mr Murbles had arrived, with a clerk in attendance trailing behind him to carry his bag.

"Who is in charge here," he asked, peering over his half moon glasses. "And who has the warrant to enter these premises?"

"That would be Auror Beaglehole, sir," muttered one of the Aurors, eyes fixed on the wall ahead.

"And where will I find this Auror Beaglehole?"

"Dunno, sir."

Mr Murbles beckoned to his clerk, removed his cloak and folded it very carefully, before handing it to the young man. "You don't know? Good heavens, what is the world coming to. You don't know where your superior is? This had better not turn out to be some sort of delaying tactic, or you will be in very hot water, young man. I will not be paltered with."

"No, sir."

"Where is Mr Maloy then? I presume you know that much?"

"No, sir."

Mr Murbles tutted, and looked pityingly at the Aurors.

"Ah, Professor Snape, how nice to see you again." Mr Murbles advanced on the Snapes with his hand outstretched and shook their hands firmly in turn. "And you, Miss Granger, delighted. Do either of you know where I can find Mr Malfoy, or even this mysterious invisible Auror?"

"Lucius is in the Library with the Auror, who is visible but rather shocked," Severus said.

"Oh? I had rather anticipated finding him ransacking the Manor, which always makes Mr Malfoy irritated as they have a nasty habit of leaving fingerprints on the objets d'art." Murbles smiled faintly.

"Miss Granger has been keeping the powers of the Ministry at bay," Severus replied, "by the simple expedient of shouting at them. She has been so effective that tea is being applied to the young man in the hope that he may recover his wits."

"If he had any to recover," Hermione muttered, flushing a little.

"Indeed. What a very resourceful young lady. I've never tried shouting at Aurors before; perhaps I should try it more often." Hermione didn't like the way that the lawyer was looking at her – looking through her, in that odd way that Mr Ollivander had – as if he could see into her mind. Perhaps he used Legilimency too? That would be a useful skill for a lawyer.

"He annoyed me," she said, fully aware that she sounded like a three year old deprived of its toys.

She was sure that Mr Murbles was laughing at her; it was irritating, but she couldn't really shout at him. "Then we shall have to ensure that he doesn't annoy you again," he said and bustled off in the direction of the library.

"I suppose we should see what they're up to," Hermione said.

"I'm sure we can leave it in Lucius' capable hands, although I'm sure that he's impressed with your new strategy for dealing with the Ministry. All we have to do is make sure that you shout at all of them, and we'll be divorced in six months."

"Very funny, I'm sure."

"I thought so," he said, and smiled. It wasn't quite his usual 'you're too stupid to breathe' smile, but rather warmer and softer. So she smiled back and allowed herself to be escorted back to the conservatory whilst the rest of the conspiracy plotted behind her back.

It was probably a mistake, but the conservatory was warm and sunny, and it was a particularly sweet smile.

She only hoped he didn't turn it on her too often, though perhaps repeated exposure would render her immune.


	20. In which there is trouble

The day before term started found Severus in front of the fire in his rooms, cuddling a glass of brandy – Lucius had been so pleased with their meeting that he'd given him a whole bottle in a fit of generosity – and thinking.

He'd been glad to get back to Hogwarts. Hermione had returned to her parents' house, giving him the luxury of spending time in his own quarters, on his own, with no wife and cat to disturb him.

He had found that he missed the cat. It had been someone to talk to at the end of a long day teaching that had offered unqualified support – at least, it hadn't disagreed with him, and that would do for now.

He had noticed Miss Granger's absence as well. Now he could walk around his rooms without a dressing gown, though it was a nice dressing gown, and wee with the bathroom door open. It was a silly little thing, and yet it made him feel like a large tiger marking its territory. These are my rooms, he was saying, and I only let you live here because I have to.

That pleasure had palled after three days, and he had realised that he was bored.

This had obviously been because it was the first time in twenty years that he hadn't been fighting for his life, or spying, or worrying about something. It had had nothing to do with missing Hermione at all. He just needed to find a new hobby or a little research perhaps, and that would fill his time nicely.

That had lasted a week, and now he was skulking about his rooms and very carefully not looking at the Calendar. Today was marked with a big, red circle and the legend "Last Day of Freedom".

All right then, he was forced to admit that he was missing the presence of Someone in his rooms. It wasn't Hermione per se, because she was still an irritating Know-it-all, but the prospect of Someone, a nicer Someone more suited to his tastes, who would be there to offer him cockroach clusters and amuse him when he was bored.

This meant that it was vital that he help Hermione with her project, so that they could get divorced, allowing him to get on with the serious business of finding a wife: The Second Mrs Snape.

He'd been thinking about the Second Mrs Snape a fair bit and had concluded that, whilst a blonde with big breasts might be nice, it might be better to settle for someone who was kind and caring. Obviously he hadn't given up hope of finding a blonde (with big breasts) who was also kind and caring, but if it came to a choice he knew which one he'd plump for.

So he knew what he wanted, and now all he had to do was get it.

This meant that he would have to spend more time with Hermione, to make sure that she didn't make any silly mistakes and ruin their chances of getting a divorce.

Which meant that he had to take Minerva's advice: perhaps they should start having afternoon tea on a Sunday.

Fine.

Good.

That was sorted, then.

And he went off to bed feeling a lot better about everything. The art of lying to yourself was to tell yourself something very close to the truth, that allowed you to do what you wanted, but without actually coming out and saying the Actual Truth – yes, he missed Hermione.

He winced.

Bugger.

Now he'd come out into the open and thought it.

Still, he almost missed Voldemort sometimes, and that didn't mean that he liked old Scaly did it? He missed Hermione in the same way he'd miss his desk if it were moved. He'd got used to her. He nodded to himself, this was sounding good. He could live with that.

And, if he did go down to greet her at the station this was because he'd been brought up properly and knew what was due to his wife and not because he wanted to see her.

Not at all.

He punched the pillow into a more pleasing shape, and settled down to sleep happy that he'd settled that little problem to his satisfaction.

Hermione had found it difficult to relax for the rest of her holiday. She was anxious to return to Hogwarts and get on with things. She had three notebooks filled with ideas that she wanted to discuss with Severus, and a long list of people that she thought might be helpful.

And if they didn't want to be helpful, she was sure that either Severus or Lucius Malfoy would be able to persuade them that they really wanted to be helpful. She could definitely see the attraction of being Evil – it did mean you got your own way more of the time, and without having to explain things to people.

Jump, you said. And they did. They didn't even bother with asking how high, but jumped as high as possible in case they were asked to jump off a tall building instead. It was enough to make a person turn Dark. She didn't really have the hair or the figure for being evil though, and would never fit into some slinky dress with architectural boning and drive men wild with passion, so she would have to settle for being a bit Bossy instead.

The boys had been pleased to see her on the train and had been full of tales of Christmas at the Burrow. They settled down in the same carriage, the boys on one seat with an impressive collection of sweets between them, and her facing them.

"You should have seen it, Hermione," Harry said. "The twins managed to slip some potion into his porridge on Christmas day and it turned his nose blue for the whole day."

"And none of the buggers told me," Ron said, pretending to be grumpy about it all. "So I went round with it all day, until I looked in the mirror and realised why they'd all been giggling at me. Bastards."

"And the only reason you were looking in the mirror was to make sure you were looking pretty for your girlfriend," Harry teased, then looked a little awkward. Harry still hadn't learned to be tactful before he opened his mouth, but he had graduated to being aware of having put his foot in it shortly afterwards. This was, Hermione thought, an improvement on the old, tactless Harry – just not much of one.

"Quite right too," Hermione said warmly. "Perhaps if you made a bit more of an effort you might get a girlfriend, Harry."

Ron sniggered, and nudged him in the ribs. "Yeah, Harry. Who did you last go out with?"

"I've been a little busy saving the Wizarding World to have time to find a girlfriend," Harry replied.

"You've had months since then, and you haven't even had a sniff," Ron replied, revelling in being the successful one for once. "You'd think that being the Boy-Who-Lived would mean you'd be overrun."

"That's the problem though." Harry shrugged. "They don't want to go out with me; they want to go out with the boy they read about in the papers."

"Good job, really," Ron said heartlessly. "A little bloke like you would have awful difficulty pulling otherwise. No girl'd want to be seen with someone shorter than them."

"He could always wear high heels," Hermione giggled.

"Or ask old Snape for a growing potion," Ron added.

"As if I'd take a potion that he'd prepared," Harry scoffed. "He'd probably put poison in it or something." There was an awkward silence as he realised what he'd said. "Er, sorry Hermione."

"How dare you suggest he'd poison you," Hermione replied, frowning.

"Well, er, I'm sure he wouldn't do it. Not really," Harry stuttered.

"Of course not; that would be far too obvious. Bit like leaving a signed confession really. He'd do something much more imaginative," she said.

There was the silence as the boys worked out that she'd been joking – which took them a bit of time because they weren't entirely convinced that Snape wouldn't do something much worse – and then they burst out laughing.

"You should have seen your face," Hermione gasped, in between giggles.

"You've been spending too much time with Snape, if you think that's funny!" Harry threw a chocolate frog at her, which she deftly caught and opened.

"Mnnh," Ron said, and swallowed his frog quickly. "How did you get on with your trip to see the Malfoys. Still got all your fingernails?"

Hermione wiggled her fingers at him so he could inspect them. "It wasn't too bad. Lucius is still a nasty piece of work who should be locked up but, if you ignore that, he's at least prepared to do a deal about this bloody law."

"What sort of deal?" Harry asked, inspecting the wrappers carefully to make sure that none of the frogs had escaped.

"We need a new Minister for Magic," she said.

"Makes sense." Harry nodded.

"Lucius very generously put himself forward as a candidate," Hermione said.

"I'll bet," Ron snorted. "You didn't agree, did you?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think he really expected me to. It was an opening bid, and then he was going to suggest someone awful, but who wouldn't be as bad as him, so I'd leap at it. They'd already decided that Harry was too – what was it – too independent for their tastes…"

"They?" Ron asked sharply. "Malfoy and Snape?"

Hermione frowned. "Yes. Lucius and Severus had a little discussion whilst I looked at the Library. I don't know what was said but… you don't think that matters do you? I mean, Harry doesn't want to be Minister, do you?"

Harry shook his head fervently. "God, no. I've had enough of saving the Wizarding World to last me a lifetime. I'm looking forward to an easy life, with no complicated decisions."

Ron looked worried. "I don't like the thought of those two making decisions like that when Hermione isn't there."

"I'm sure that Severus will tell me anything important." Hermione shrugged. "I can't see any way round it – Lucius Malfoy isn't going to deal with me directly."

"You trust him?" Ron asked.

Hermione sighed. "Up to a point. Malfoy's twisty and underhanded, and about as reliable as a candle in a hurricane, but he's all we've got to work with. He's the only one with the Pureblood clout."

"I meant, do you trust Snape?" Ron said patiently.

Hermione blinked. "Erm, yes. There may be things that he doesn't tell me, because he knows I wouldn't approve, but otherwise? Yes, I trust him. It's not as if he wants to stay married to me."

"Spose not," Ron replied. "Mind you, it's not as if he's going to find anyone else daft enough to marry him."

"Professor Snape," Hermione said, speaking very slowly and carefully, "has a great deal to offer any woman. He may be a little irritable, but he is loyal and is capable of being pleasant company when he wants to be."

"So who is going to be the next Minister for Magic then?" Harry asked, heading off an argument before it could really get going.

"We thought that Professor McGonagall might be a good candidate," Hermione replied, allowing herself to be distracted. "I don't know whether Professor Snape has asked her yet."

"Not bad, not bad at all." Harry grinned. "Just think – it'd be the first honest Minister we'd have had in years. I'm surprised Malfoy went along with that – surely he wants a Minister he can bribe?"

"I expect he thinks that he'll be able to outmanoeuvre her once she's in place," Ron said, with an even broader smile. "Which is absolute rubbish, of course; she'll make mincemeat of him."

"I thought so too," Hermione replied. "They've probably only met at Governors' meetings in the last couple of years, and Professor McGonagall would have been on her best behaviour there. It'll be different when she's Minister."

"Ooooh, yes," Ron agreed. "I think we can count on that."

"I just hope she agrees," Hermione sighed. "After all, no one in their right mind would want the job."

"Which neatly explains why Percy's so keen on the idea, I suppose. I can't say I'm looking forward to working in the same building as him next year. He'll be all 'have you combed your hair' and 'do as your told and don't let the family down', and it's not as if you're allowed to hex him at the office." Ron heaved a martyred sigh, and reflected on the injustices of having an elder brother who was a pompous twit.

"I don't think he's that happy with the Ministry himself." Harry pounced on a frog that had been hiding underneath the wrappers, then remembered his manners and offered it to Hermione and Ron, who both shook their heads. "He did let us know about Umbridge."

"Yeah," said Ron. "He did, didn't he? He's still a prat though."

"You don't hear me arguing with that," Harry replied. "He's just not entirely beyond hope."

Ron grunted, not entirely convinced.

"Do you think he might be able to get us tickets to the next Quidditch World Cup?" Harry asked. "Seeing as he's so important at the Ministry."

"Probably not – which is just as well, really. Have you seen how the Cannons are playing? We're never going to be able to get an English team in the final, when there isn't a decent Seeker in the entire league who was born in this country."

The rest of the journey was taken up with complicated discussions of tactics, and statistics and all the minutiae of Quidditch that Hermione usually filtered out to concentrate on more important things but which now seemed to be an essential part of their quickly disappearing childhood.

It was odd to think that, in many ways, she was closer now to Snape than she was to Harry and Ron. She could talk to him about so many things that they only gave half an ear to – or none at all – and the converse was equally true. Soon school would be over, and the boys would be off to become Aurors whilst she still had no clear idea what she wanted to do once this law was finished. She couldn't afford to take them for granted in the same way any more - it would be easy for them to slip from good friends, to friends to acquaintances as their paths diverged – so she listened to them, and allowed them to laugh at her silly questions, and mentally hugged them to her as tight as she could.

Still, even with her new determination to be a better friend, she was pleased when the train slowed down indicating that Hogwarts was just round the corner.

There was a flurry of last minute checking that everyone had their bags, and hunting for a misplaced scarf, and then they were swept onto the platform in a crowd of chattering students. An ear-shattering squeal announced the arrival of Lavender, who nearly knocked Ron over in her enthusiasm to hug him, and she was rapidly followed by a couple of the younger Gryffindors who wanted to ask Harry about something really, really important that couldn't be discussed in front of a girl – at least she thought that was what the grimaces and shuffling of feet was all about – and she found herself standing slightly alone whilst everyone rushed past her.

There was some commotion at the front of the group. She couldn't see what was going on, but it was probably something to do with Hagrid. She crouched down on the platform, and was asking Crookshanks whether her best boy was all right, and telling him that he would be let out of his basket soon when a pair of black boots appeared just in front of her. Boots she was entirely familiar with, but had not expected to see here and now.

She looked up; Severus was scowling at her. "Is there any reason for you to be dawdling like this?"

Behind him the students stood half on one side, and half on the other, having parted like the red sea before Moses. They weren't silent, but the conversation had settled to a quiet whisper, and it was obvious what they were discussing. "No, sir; sorry, sir," she said meekly, and rose to her feet.

"Very well then, come along." He strode off, deliberately choosing to force another way through the crowd, scattering children before him, with Hermione dutifully bringing up the rear.

He opened the carriage door for her, and helped her into her seat. He sat opposite her and looked excruciatingly uncomfortable. She couldn't help it; she grinned at him.

"Are you laughing at me, Miss Granger?" he snapped.

"Not at all, Severus," she replied. "I'm just pleased to see you. And admiring the effect you had on the students."

His lips twitched.

"It was very kind of you to come down and meet me."

"The headmaster suggested… " he sighed. "The headmaster has no idea I'm here at all. I just thought that… it was … a whim." He didn't offer any further explanation.

Severus did nothing on a whim. He did silly things when he had lost his temper, but most of the time he did nothing without calculating precisely what the effects would be.

"I missed Hogwarts," she offered obliquely. "It was nice to see my parents, but after a while I … well, it's nice to be back."

"I thought that we might have some tea together before dinner," he replied, equally obliquely. "If you'd like."

"That'd be nice. I er get thirsty after the long journey and I've never really taken to pumpkin juice." It really had to rate as the most asinine conversation she had ever had with anyone, and she was quite relieved when Severus lapsed into silence and she didn't have to think of any more small talk. Neither of them were very good at that sort of mindless chatter that others filled their lives with.

It didn't take her long to settle back into her room: Crookshanks let loose to renew his friendship with Severus, a flick of a wand to unpack, putting on a big jumper to keep out the chill, and finding her slippers which had disappeared under the bed.

When she came out of her room, Severus was sat in the large chair by the fire with a purring Crookshanks on his lap. On the table in front of him was a large pot of tea, two cups and some crumpets to toast. She settled in a graceless heap in front of the hearth, tucking her feet beneath her.

"I'll do the crumpets, shall I?" she asked. "I always think they taste nicer done by the fire than just shoved in the toaster."

He pushed a teacup at her, and accepted a buttered crumpet in return. She licked the butter from her fingers, then remembered that wasn't the best of manners.

"So, have you had a chance to talk to Professor McGonagall yet?" she asked.

"Not yet. You don't suddenly walk up to someone and suggest that they might like to enter into a criminal conspiracy to overthrow the Minister of Magic – especially when they're so close to Albus – you work up to things by degrees," he replied.

She held up a hand, acknowledging the point. "I'm sure you know best. I'm not criticising; I'm just asking how things are going."

He eyed her with suspicion, but was mollified by her patent sincerity. "I've been trying to find out how deeply Dumbledore was involved in the law. According to Lucius, he was right behind the measures, and if that's the case then we have to be very cautious in approaching Minerva. They've always been very close, and we can't risk her telling him what we're up to."

"How fixed are the plans that you and Lucius came up with?" Hermione asked.

"To call them fluid would be generous; they're not so much plans as a general outline of strategy because everything depends on getting Minerva to agree to be our candidate. In the meantime he's going to try and stop any more Purebloods making offers of marriage."

"Do I want to know how he's going to do that?"

"Nothing more exotic than asking very nicely, don't worry. It's not as if there is an overwhelming desire to marry Muggleborns amongst Purebloods, so it won't be necessary to apply that much pressure. There will be the odd family looking to curry favour with the Ministry to try to recover some of their prestige, but if there is a chance that the Ministry is going to be under new management soon, they will be better off waiting to see who is going to come out on top."

"Makes sense. It's vile, but it does make sense."

"They're just as caught in this situation as you are. They'd rather have their children grow up free to marry who they wanted to, and they don't have the luxury of saying no to the Ministry. How would they cope in the Muggle world if they were forced out?"

Hermione wasn't inclined to give sympathy to Purebloods. She didn't think that she would be any more at home in the Muggle world now than they would. She had no qualifications to show future employers, and no way of explaining what she'd been doing with her life for the last seven years. That was half the problem with Purebloods – they thought they were so bloody special.

Actually, that was the whole of the problem with Purebloods.

"Then what do we do? A swift round of blackmail and bribery of the most important people on the Wizengamot?"

Severus nodded. "I'd say so. We don't want to leave anything to chance do we?"

"I've erm… I've made some notes on likely targets," she said.

Severus, in mid-sip, inadvertently inhaled some tea and spent a couple of minutes coughing. "You've got notes? Of course you've got notes. Do they extend to identifying what we should be blackmailing them about?"

Hermione blushed and shook her head.

Severus drained his cup. "Well, you may as well show me what you've got."

Hermione Accioed her bag over to her, and rummaged through it, to pull out a large red notebook. She removed the powerful disillusioning spell she'd used to protect it before giving it to Severus.

"Hmmm, I see you've picked targets that you think might be sympathetic. I presume that's why Amelia Bones is on your list, rather than blackmail. As far as I know she's never put a foot wrong, unless you include the time that she offered to shove Fudge's wand up his arse."

Hermione giggled. "I think the critical question is whether there actually is something behind the law. I mean, there's supposed to be this serious problem with squibs and a falling birth rate, but is this actually true. I wonder – if it is true, why is there so much security about it? If Madam Pomfrey's sister can't find out what's going on, it suggests that there's something to hide."

Severus looked up from her notes, one long finger poised half way down a page. "You may have a point, though you should never underestimate the Ministry's belief in secrecy over the most minor matters. Still, it's an interesting point – is the Wizarding World about to be brought to its knees by inbreeding? I'm not sure we want to know the answer though; it might encourage people to keep the law in place."

"The law's bollocks," she said. "Think about it – if the problem is inbreeding all you'd have to do is prohibit marriage between Purebloods. You don't actually have to compel marriage with Muggleborns."

Severus blinked. "That's true."

"And if you did have to compel marriage, what about the Pureblood women?"

"What about them?"

"Think about it – why aren't Pureblood women being compelled to marry Muggleborns and breed up kiddies until their uterus falls out."

Severus smiled. "Oh, now there's a lovely prospect to dangle in front of any of Lucius' waverers: side with the Ministry and your daughters will be rutting with Mudbloods. They'll be livid."

Hermione winced; after seven years that term still had the power to make her feel extremely uncomfortable. Severus reached out and patted her awkwardly on her shoulder. "It's not pleasant," he said. "But if we appeal to their prejudices, it's going to be a damned sight more successful than appealing to their better nature."

She sighed. "I know. It's just that sometimes I wonder what future I have in this world."

"A bright one, once this is out of the way," he replied. "The Pureblood grip on power is weakening. Only the Malfoys are really wealthy any more, and the rest sit around in their shabby houses chewing over past glories and wondering why their children are being passed over for promotion. If they weren't frightened of you, they wouldn't hate you so much."

"It's hard work being hated," she replied.

"Try teaching for twenty years, and then you'll be able to complain."

"Hmmm," she replied. She couldn't imagine what it was like having to teach for that length of time. If you had ever had any interest in your subject, it must have been leached out after the first couple of years when you realised that your students were indifferent at best, and you found that they were repeating the same mistakes over and over again.

You could argue that it kept you young, having all that contact with teenagers, or maybe it was a form of arrested development. That could explain an awful lot about Dumbledore, when you thought about it. It wasn't a second childhood; it was still his first one.

It might mean that Severus could shed some light on the perennial mystery of what it was that the boys saw in Quidditch.

"Do you like Quidditch?" she asked. "Of course you do; you're a boy."

"It's been nearly thirty years since someone has called me a boy," he replied. "But yes, I enjoy Quidditch. Many people do, and not all of them are male."

"I just don't see the attraction." She took another crumpet and stuck it on the end of the toasting fork. "It's just … dull."

"I hope that you keep that heresy to yourself," he said.

She nodded, watching her crumpet carefully to make sure it didn't burn.

"It's all Harry and Ron ever seem to talk about," she confided, in a rush. "And I've tried to understand it, but…" She didn't finish the sentence, unwilling to say out loud what was worrying her.

"As Mr Potter and Mr Weasley mature, you'll find that they develop a much wider range of interests. First, Quidditch, then girls, then alcohol, and then one day they'll hit on the happy idea of mixing all three."

Hermione sighed.

"However, I am sure that, whilst they may not be the most interesting conversationalists, they will always be your friend. The friends you make at Hogwarts last a lifetime."

"Really?" She looked up at him. "They're going to go off to be Aurors and leave me behind, and they won't need me to help them any more."

"I expect they will manage to delude some poor young woman into explaining how they should tie their shoelaces, and what colour socks to wear so that part of your friendship will pass, but they will always want to be your friend," he said firmly. "If I can stay friends with Lucius after all these years, despite trying to kill each other on a number of occasions, then I don't see why you should fall out with those two merely because they become Aurors."

Hermione pulled her crumpet free of the fork and spread it with butter, whilst she thought that through. "What was he like as a child?"

"Lucius?" Severus shrugged. "I never knew him as a child. He was a seventh year, when I started here, and not inclined to spend a lot of time with grubby children."

"But you were friends?" she prompted.

"Of sorts. He was Head Boy and made sure that Slytherin was properly respected in Hogwarts, even if that meant looking after a snotty first year he wouldn't normally give the time of day." Severus smirked at the memory, replaying old victories. "Whatever else, he would say, Slytherins should stick together."

Hermione could imagine how potent the approval and protection of the older boy would have been. It was probably the first kind word he'd had from anyone, though you had to wonder whether Lucius had deliberately set out to manipulate Severus in that way. Probably not. Not at seventeen surely– and their friendship wouldn't have lasted as long as it had if it had been based on something so false. "And you did."

"And we did. I don't mention the fact that he recruited me, and he doesn't mention the fact that I betrayed them. We also don't talk about my suspicion that he knew I was spying and chose not to say anything…"

"Really? You think he knew?"

Severus shrugged. "I'm sure that if you asked him, he'd claim that he'd known all along. It may even be true."

"The way he claimed that he allowed me to hex him? Do you think he did let me?"

"Is it that important to you?" he asked, amused.

She nodded. "Of course."

"Of course it would be," he said. "The girl who always had her hand in the air, the girl who always wanted to be the best, she won't be happy until she's sure that she hexed Lucius in the back."

"And that's why you ended up in Hufflepuff," Hermione riposted. "Because you were so shy and retiring, and backwards at coming forwards. You weren't ambitious at all."

He stiffened. "I'm not sure that mine is a wise example to follow."

"Not all of it perhaps, but…" she paused, seeking the right words. "It can't always have been darkness. Not at first."

"No. To begin with there was wine, women and Quidditch. Mostly wine, or at least beer, and Quidditch for me, and women for Lucius. He was always very successful with women."

"Lots of girls do seem to be silly like that," she replied. "They think someone is charming and pleasant and don't notice that, in the things that really matter, they're selfish wankers."

"Lots of people are like that, not just the female half of the species," Severus replied, with a faint note of bitterness.

"Which, from the perspective of someone who has to wear four bottles of Sleakeasy's hair tonic to get noticed by boys, is a bit of a sod. However, looking on the bright side, the fact there are a lot of silly people in the world does mean that it's easier to manipulate them."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" His lips twitched. "Bitter experience suggests otherwise – never underestimate the ability of a truly stupid person to foul things up."

Hermione couldn't deny it, so she didn't try but simply offered him another crumpet. It wasn't much compensation, but it was all that was available.

"Does that mean that we have to hope that Fudge is a stupid person so we can take advantage of him, or that he's an intelligent person so that he doesn't outclass us by being more stupid than we can cope with?" Hermione asked wryly.

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed the quarter hour. "An interesting question that I won't have time to answer," Severus replied. "You're going to be late for dinner if you don't get a move on."

"What about you?" Hermione asked, accioing her robes, and swapping her slippers for shoes.

"I'll be along in good time," he replied. "After all, I won't get detention for being late."

Hermione pulled a face at him, and hurried out of the room with his shouted instruction not to run in the corridor ringing in her ears. She waited until she'd turned the corner before breaking into a brisk trot. As climbed the last flight of stairs, she could see Pansy and Draco outside the Hall, flanking the door, deep in conversation.

"Granger," Draco said. "Running late, aren't you? Your two sidekicks are already in there."

"We're not joined at the hip," she replied, taking the chance to catch her breath.

"Are you sure that they can manage without you, if you're not there to do their thinking for them?" Pansy asked.

"Probably, as long as its nothing too complicated," Draco replied. "They can cope with the basics…"

"Walking," said Pansy.

"Eating," Draco supplied.

"Breathing," added Pansy.

"Let's just hope that they've worked out what shoe goes on what foot," Draco added, assuming an air of anxiety.

"I'm sure they'd be touched by your concern," Hermione replied. "It's nice to see that inter-house co-operation is finally happening after all these years. I'll be sure to pass on your kind words to Harry."

Draco grinned. "I'm sure he'll take it in the spirit that it was intended."

"I'm sure he will…," began Hermione, but was interrupted as another latecomer pushed past her. "Oi, watch out."

The girl half-turned back and glared at Hermione. "What are you going to do about it? Get me detention with Slimy Snape?"

Hermione didn't have time to reply before the girl slipped into the Hall and took her seat at the Hufflepuff table.

"Not much inter-house spirit from that quarter," Draco said softly.

"No," said Hermione. "Something she could come to regret."

"All you have to do is mention it to the Professor; I'm sure he can come up with something appropriate." Draco's grin was evil.

"Some things are best done yourself, don't you agree?" Hermione replied.

Draco nodded. "If you need any help, just say the word."

Dumbledore's chair scraped along the floor as he rose to make his opening speech, and they scattered to their respective tables to take their seats, and Hermione forgot all about the irritating Hufflepuff with the sharp elbows.

The irritating Hufflepuff might have got away with being rude if she hadn't made the mistake of pushing her luck again. Unlike Severus, Hermione wasn't one to hold a grudge…

Hermione was one to bear a grudge, but only over important things.

All right, she could hold a grudge with the best of them, but had forgotten all about the Hufflepuff until the incident was brought back to her attention about a week later by the silly moo deciding to continue the argument.

For some odd reason, Albus had decided that the exigencies of timetabling meant that it was a really good idea to put Slytherins and Gryffindors together, leaving the Hufflepuffs to be matched with Ravenclaws. Slytherin and Gryffindor was a fairly explosive combination, but she'd always thought that Ravenclaws must get pretty fed up with Hufflepuffs. She found them a bit too nice, and hard-working and self-effacing and after ten minutes of all that ostensible sweetness and light she wanted to scream.

What, she thought, was the point of all that hard work, if you didn't make sure you got rewarded for it?

Which did make you wonder whether the reason that Gryffindor and Slytherin didn't get on was because they had rather more in common than they were prepared to admit, which was something she should really mention to Severus one evening and watch him splutter.

Intent on her thoughts, Hermione wasn't paying attention to where she was walking. She was a bit early for her next class – unlike the boys who were dawdling – and the students from the previous lesson hadn't left the classroom yet.

She leaned against the wall, and rummaged in her satchel for her Charms textbook. She wanted to check up something about Invisibility charms before the class, to make sure that she couldn't be asked any awkward questions. She was determined to make it clear to her teachers that there would be no slacking off or looking for favours merely because she was married to Professor Snape.

A shadow fell across the page, but she didn't look up until a pointy elbow connected with the book and knocked it to the floor.

"Oi," she said reproachfully. "I was reading that."

"Oh I'm sorry," said a voice laced with the sort of insincerity that she hadn't heard since Malfoy had stopped being such a wanker. "I didn't see you there."

"Oh, it's you," Hermione replied, remembering the face if not the name. "The clever cow who thinks it's smart to insult teachers."

"Didn't you go running off to hubby?"

"Don't need to," Hermione said simply. "I'm more than capable of caning your arse without his help. Small matter of Voldemort? I'm sure you remember his name. We took care of him in the summer holidays whilst you were topping up your tan. I hardly think you're going to take a couple of seconds."

The girl went white – Hermione still couldn't put a name to the face – and one of her friends put a hand on her elbow. "Come on Sylvia; it's not worth it. You'll only get into trouble."

Sylvia shook off the other girl. "You're right it's not worth it. It's not worth touching this scum."

Hermione held on to her temper by the thinnest of margins. She couldn't go round slapping people for being stupid, even if it was terribly tempting because she was a mature woman these days, and she couldn't let Severus down, and …

"After all, she has to get into bed with Greasy Snape every night," Sylvia said. "I suppose that's punishment enough.

Oh sod it, Hermione thought dimly through the red mists, and slapped the girl as hard as she could.

This, as Draco could attest, was very hard indeed; certainly Sylvia would have agreed with that assessment if she had been able to speak. She rallied quickly though, and grabbed hold of Hermione's hair and pulled it – hard – bringing tears to Hermione's eyes. Keeping a tight grasp of the hair, so Hermione had no chance to move out of the way, Sylvia slapped her back. It wasn't as successful as Hermione's slap; she didn't see stars, but it stung. Hermione pulled away, and they wrestled together before Sylvia lost her balance, slipped, and fell heavily to the floor with Hermione on top of her.

Professor Flitwick, attracted by the noise, came to the door of his classroom to see a small group of students gathered round the fighting girls.

"What's all this?" he asked, but no one took any notice. Hermione was too busy trying to get an elbow into her opponent's stomach, Sylvia was trying to pull out her hair, and the crowd were encouraging the competitors according to personal taste and house loyalty.

"This is a disgrace," Flitwick bleated. "Stop this at once." Seeing that they were still fighting, he drew his wand and prepared to cast a suitable spell.

"There's no need for that, sir," said Malfoy, pushing himself off the wall where he had been negligently lounging. "If you'd allow me…."

Flitwick nodded.

"Oh, you two. Snape's coming," Draco yelled.

The two girls shot apart, and got to their feet in one swift movement and then tried to look innocent.

Hermione looked round for her husband, but he was nowhere to be seen. "You," she said to Draco, "are a little sod. You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Ten points to Slytherin," Professor Flitwick said. "For quick thinking in a crisis."

Hermione pulled a face at Draco, who just grinned at her.

"Well what was this all about?" asked the Professor.

"Nothing, sir," Hermione replied.

Sylvia threw Hermione a disbelieving glance, but said nothing.

"Well I shall have to mention this to Professor Snape," Flitwick huffed.

"Like that'll make any difference," Sylvia muttered.

"And I'm sure he'll have a lot to say to you about your behaviour," Flitwick said, frowning at Sylvia. Obviously, he'd heard her. "Twenty points each from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and a detention for both of you. With me. Tomorrow evening. And I want no more of this, is that clear?"

"Yes, Professor," they both murmured.

"Those of you who are supposed to be elsewhere, I suggest you run along. The rest of you, into my classroom now!" Flitwick said, waving his hand dismissively.

"This isn't over," muttered Sylvia as she went past.

"Count on it," Hermione replied.

Ron and Harry came to stand beside her. Ron offered her a hanky. She inspected it carefully first. It seemed to be relatively clean, so she used it to wipe her eyes which were watering heavily.

"Detention, eh?" said Harry. "That'll be your first, won't it?"

Hermione nodded, a little shamefaced.

"At least it's with old Flitters," Ron said. "Not Snape."

The boys exchanged significant glances. "Otherwise it'd be scrubbing the cauldrons by hand then…" said Harry.

"Or, worse, do you remember the time he had us collect all that bubotuber pus?" added Ron with a shudder.

"Yuk!"

"You two really have the knack of making me feel better about this," Hermione put in sourly.

Ron took her hand and shook it firmly. "Congratulations Hermione. You will now leave Hogwarts having experienced all the delights that Hogwarts has to offer."

"Being petrified by basilisks," Harry chipped in.

"Slapping Malfoy," Ron added.

"Slapping Malfoy repeatedly," said Harry with a grin.

"Breaking into the Ministry."

"And now, detention." Harry patted her on her arm. "Just think of it as a rite of passage."

"Yes," said Ron earnestly, sounding frighteningly like one of the twins. "Today, Hermione, you become One Of Us. One of the naughty students."

"It's not the bloody detention I'm worried about," Hermione snapped. "What on earth will Severus say."

The boys seemed to be used to her calling Snape Severus, because they didn't even wince.

"I'm certain that Severus will be very understanding," said Draco, from behind their little group where he'd been watching events with interest. "Once you explain why you were fighting, anyway."

"I can't do that," she protested. "That'd be snitching."

Draco shrugged.

"'Ere, Hermione. If you don't make it out alive, can I have your chocolate Frogs?" Harry asked.

"You really are a pair of daft buggers," she said affectionately, moving into the classroom. "Come on, before we're late."

The class was very subdued, but she'd managed to win back nearly all the points she'd just lost by the end of it. It seemed that Professor Flitwick had some understanding of what had provoked the dispute, and even approved of her actions.

Perhaps that meant that he wouldn't paint the event in too bad a light when he informed Severus? She could only hope that would be the case. She didn't want to fall out with him, when they were getting on so well, and cockroach clusters wouldn't help this situation at all.

Not even a full pound.

She spent the time after classes and before dinner hiding in the Gryffindor common room and putting off the evil hour as long as possible.

Flitwick was sitting next to Snape at High Table and having an animated discussion. Hermione couldn't help staring at him. He seemed to sense it and raised his head to look at her. Their eyes met in a long exchange until, finally, she looked away.

"Bugger," she said softly.

"What?" Harry asked.

"He almost smiled," she said.

"That's good isn't it?" asked Ron.

Hermione tried to believe that was true. A smiling Snape was indeed a happy Snape, but a happy Snape could be one that was plotting retribution. It all depended on who he was plotting against.

When she got back to their rooms, he was waiting.

"I hear you've been in the wars," he said.

She nodded cautiously.

"You really ought to know better by now," he said severely.

She nodded again. Silence was the best option.

"Next time, why don't you wait until she's further down the corridor and hex her from behind? That way you might get away with it."

"Er, ok," she said.

And that was the end of the matter.


	21. More bad news

It is a difficult and delicate matter to approach someone's deputy and ask them to engage in a conspiracy against their boss. In the circles Severus had moved in, a miscalculation in such a manoeuvre could have led to death, torture and dismemberment – not necessarily in that order.

Dumbledore may not have red eyes or practise the Dark Arts (though that was a matter of opinion) but he knew enough about Severus' past to make life very sticky indeed if he felt like it.

Minerva, being a direct person, was not someone who would pick up on a subtle hint – he really would have to come out in the open with the entire proposition – and was notoriously loyal to Dumbledore.

He had considered getting Lucius to raise the issue after the next Governor's meeting, but had to dismiss it regretfully. It would have been the perfect opportunity in many ways. Albus always disappeared to his rooms as quickly as possible after any meeting as he found Lucius' presence to be the rough equivalent of being flogged lightly and then having salt rubbed into the wound: the pain was insignificant at first, but after a while it became unbearable.

Severus had some sympathy for that view. Lucius had raised the art of getting up people's noses to an art form. It was often said – by others, and very, very quietly -that the only reason he hadn't got up the Dark Lord's nose was that the resurrected version had no nose to get up.

However, Severus thought it was poor tactics on Albus' part not to keeping a close eye on Lucius. But that was Albus all over – he always passed on the nasty tasks to his juniors and hoped for the best.

Not that that was a bad idea in itself, if put into effect by a superior intelligence who knew how to do that sort of thing properly. It was certainly very tempting to wash his hands of the entire business and pass the business of seducing Minerva to the Dark Side (metaphorically) on to someone more suited to the task of emissary. No one could deny that Lucius had a talent for flattery and persuasion when he chose to exercise it.

It was almost his only talent, and always worth observing for the rarity value alone. Unfortunately, it was unlikely to be effective against Minerva, who thought he was as trustworthy as a rattle snake.

This was unfair.

Lucius was far less trustworthy than a rattle snake, which would only bite when provoked and would give warning before it did so. Lucius bit because he was bored, or because he felt like it, and chiefly because he bloody well could. And he didn't believe in giving you any warning. Where would be the fun in that?

He gathered that more scrupulous persons than himself tended to think that this meant that there was no point in entering into any agreements with Lucius, but that was just defeatist nonsense. All you had to do was work out what he wanted, and make sure he got enough of what he wanted to make him stick to his side of the bargain; it was all a matter of negotiation.

This did raise the point that Hermione seemed to have the same or fewer scruples than Severus, which was rather intriguing and made her seem rather more interesting than he had previously considered. Perhaps there was more to her than frizzy hair, an insatiable appetite for learning, and a tendency to fly off the handle at the drop of a hat.

Severus had been amused by Hermione's little fracas with Sylvia. He could afford to be now that he no longer had responsibility for disciplining her, though it had been a little irritating to endure the teasing of the rest of the staff.

"Quite a little spitfire," Filius had said, and had very nearly elbowed him in the ribs. As if being a stroppy little mare, who was overly handy with her fists, was somehow transformed into some sort of sex bomb in the bedroom. It was far more likely that someone touchy like that would be constantly quarrelling and finding reasons to fall out, than spending all their time twisted in contortions of passion. Rodolphus had not worn the smile of a contented man, but a hunted expression that had only disappeared on death. He swore that his corpse had been smiling. 

Draco, being a little sneak desperate to curry favour, had been only too eager to pass on all the details of the quarrel between the two girls. He seemed to think that Hermione's reaction would be of interest to him, which was peculiar. What was he supposed to deduce from her behaviour, other than the obvious? Hermione had a habit of slapping people; there was nothing more to it than that.

It did give him an idea on how to approach Minerva though: play on her loyalty to the children of her house. So he'd taken the first step in Operation Minerva (as he was now thinking of it) by taking her to one side after a staff meeting, and asked for a quiet word in private as he had something he wanted to discuss.

"Of course, Severus," she replied. "I'm sure that I can help you with whatever it is that is worrying you." She seemed to wink at him, which was odd. Perhaps she had something in her eye?

A polite person would describe Minerva's office as cosy; excessively tartan would have been the honest description. Rather than settle on one particular plaid, she had decided to pay homage to all of her Scottish ancestors and pack several different colour schemes together.

It was not a happy combination.

He could just imagine the reaction would be of any Malfoy brought into contact with the room: they would be carried out on a stretcher screaming that their eyeballs were melting and begging to be crucio'ed instead. He'd often wondered whether there was some sort of genetic linkage between being sorted into Gryffindor and having no colour sense at all. What on earth was wrong with black? It went with everything, and meant you never had to decide what jacket went with what trousers. It made the scrawniest Wizard more imposing, and took pounds from the hips of any Witch.

Gryffindors were odd, and he included his wife in that, though she seemed relatively sane in comparison to the rest of them.

He settled into the comfortable arm chair by the fire, and accepted a glass of port to take his mind off the riot of colour. It was only marginally successful.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Minerva asked, with all the subtlety of Dumbledore.

"It's about Hermione," he replied, preparing to lead up to the topic by way of painting a picture of the suffering of her favourite student being forced to live in damp dungeons for the rest of her life whilst others were free to run in the sunshine.

"Aha!" she crowed. "I thought it might be."

Severus restrained himself from sneering about her perspicuity. There was very little that they would be discussing other than Hermione. They never talked about school discipline without Dumbledore there as mediator, because she was utterly biased in favour of her House and refused to accept that they were a set of strutting bullies picking on his poor little lambs.

He sighed. He was going to spend most of this meeting biting his tongue, with only the faint consolation of whinging to Hermione about it afterwards. You didn't insult someone you were about to ask a favour, unless you were a Malfoy making the request at wand point. Besides, if she agreed, then she might become Minister, and you wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of her, not if there was the possibility of a pay rise.

"We've been married for nearly four months now," he continued. "And, whilst we get along well enough, I know that she feels unhappy with the way things are."

"Nonsense," Minerva said briskly.

"We do get on well enough," he protested, a little irritated at the implication that he hadn't done everything he could, short of bending over backwards, to make his wife comfortable if not happy. 

"Don't be a bigger idiot than usual," she replied. "Anyone can see that Hermione is happy with her new life."

This was news to him. You could say that she was resigned to her fate, if you didn't know her very well. Hermione was never resigned to anything. If Hermione wasn't happy, Hermione rolled up her sleeves and bloody well changed things. It was one of her finest qualities, and probably one of her most irritating if you happened to be one of the things being changed.

"Happy? Are we talking about the same girl? I suppose that's why she feels the need to go round punching her fellow students?" he snapped. "Girlish joie de vivre?"

"She's very protective of you isn't she?" 

Shock kept Severus silent, and Minerva took that as an admission of something.

"And I notice that Gryffindor's house points didn't drop as a result. You're really taken with her, aren't you? You can't fool me, Severus. You may as well come clean."

"What on earth do you mean?" he asked belligerently, horridly aware that he knew exactly what she meant. 

"I think it's awfully romantic," she said dreamily. "You and Hermione brought together by forces beyond your control and realising that you are soul mates."

"You're insane!" he blurted. "Absolutely sodding insane. There's nothing like that between us; nothing at all."

"Oh?" Minerva took in his horrified expression, and leaped to another conclusion, more preposterous than the first. "Oh, I'm sorry, Severus. I had no idea." She reached over and patted his knee soothingly. "I'm sure that, given time, Hermione will come round."

"Come round? You are insane. What on earth could she see in a man like me?" 

"There's no need to sell yourself short like that," she replied. "You're a man of the world, experienced and you have that bad boy charm that so many women find attractive."

This was news to Severus. Lucius might be thought of as having bad boy charm – from a safe distance – what Severus had was a big nose, unfortunate hair, and the disposition of a porcupine. "And where, may I ask, are these hordes of women who apparently find me irresistible?" he asked with biting sarcasm. "Because I haven't noticed them beating a path to my door."

Minerva was torn between huffing at his rudeness, offering consolation, and trying to raise his self esteem. "I'm sure that Hermione is very fond of you," she offered.

"I'm sure she isn't," he bit out. "What she is, is grateful. But that's hardly the basis for any kind of relationship, much less a marriage. At the end of this year she will be leaving Hogwarts, and that is as it should be."

"Oh, Severus," she said, patting him on his knee. "There's no need to be so brave about things. You can't fool me."

Severus thought that fooling Minerva wasn't necessary when she was clearly insane, and had bolted for the door mumbling something about not realising what time it was, and that he had marking to do and had to go. Minerva would doubtless take that as some sort of admission, but it couldn't be helped – his nerves were shot. There was no point raising the issue of Minerva standing for Minister until she had recovered whatever malaise had afflicted her.

When he arrived at his rooms, Hermione was sat on the sofa reading a book. He glared at her – this was all her fault – and disappeared into his bedroom for a long soak in the bath and an early night away from her chatter.

The bath was warm, but even the addition of his special mixture of herbs did little to soothe his temper. It was bad enough that he'd failed in the first steps of Operation Minerva, but now he was marked down as some sort of Romantic figure he could expect to have his life made hell. Minerva wouldn't be able to keep gossip as tasty as that to herself, and it was only a matter of time before she would confide in Hooch. God alone knew what the two of them would cook up between them, but at the very least he could expect more tactful gifts of shampoo, and some wizarding self help books designed to help you catch the witch of your dreams.

As if he needed nonsense like that: if he really wanted Hermione Granger to fall desperately in love with him, he was perfectly capable of brewing his own love potions and make damned sure that she worshipped the ground he walked on.

What he found most mind boggling about the situation was not the suggestion that he was sufficiently lonely and unattractive that he would leap at the first opportunity for a shag that presented itself, but the suggestion that Hermione could, would, or even should be eager for a relationship with him. It would take rather more than saving her from Lucius – or Lucius from her, he wasn't quite sure which was the case now – to turn him into a knight in shining armour.

Hermione had been properly grateful to him for a couple of weeks, and then settled down to taking advantage of his admittedly limited good nature.

Quite right, too.

He knew how irritating it was, how exasperating, to be expected to be grateful to someone for doing something that they ought to have done simply by virtue of being members of the human race.

First, he'd been expected to be grateful to his father for not leaving his family when he found out about magic. Then he'd been expected to be grateful to Potter for saving him from the jaws of a werewolf who should never have been allowed in the school. Then it was gratitude to Lucius for introducing him to the Death Eaters – and it was a sad fact, that of all of them, it was Lucius he had most cause to be grateful to.

Certainly becoming a Death Eater had been the biggest mistake of his life, but at least Lucius had stuck to his end of the bargain. He hadn't expected Severus to spend the rest of his life on bended knee thanking him for his patronage. Or, more accurately, that was precisely what he had expected, but it was no different to the way he treated everyone else, and at least he repaid a favour with a favour.

Unlike Dumbledore and his protection, which had turned out to be anything but….

He realised he was strangling the soap, and placed it carefully on the side of the bath.

The Christmas holidays had changed things between them. He'd seen her as less of a student and more of a…

She was …

It wasn't that they were friends, because you didn't call someone a friend until you'd known them for twenty years and had a reasonable idea of how they thought and felt, and he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to work that out with Hermione… but she was something more than a giver of cockroach clusters.

She was a "had-potential-to-be-a-friend-in-twenty-years-time-provided-she-didn't-do-anything-stupid-or-disloyal". There was probably a word, in some semi-feudal country somewhere, that summed it all up but that was the closest he could come to describing their relationship given the deficiencies of the English language.

She was also expecting him to do something about Minerva, and her expectation was communicated on a daily basis by glance if not by word.

It was only a matter of time before she started asking pointed questions, and he had no wish to become a henpecked husband. He had to think of an excuse for his inaction that didn't involve telling Hermione that her head of house was deranged. Although, come to think of it, there was actually no reason why he couldn't tell the truth for once.

If the Gryffindor motto was something asinine like "Never Surrender", the Slytherin one ran something like "The Buck Stops Elsewhere". Obviously they would dress it up a bit, and translate it into Latin, but that was the essential philosophy of his House and one that had served him well through the years.

And Lucius was the perfect candidate for being the person with whom the buck would stop.

Hermione wouldn't be pleased at the thought of Lucius being brought into the situation so early in the game. She didn't trust Lucius (which was perfectly reasonable), and she did trust him (again, perfectly reasonable) and wouldn't want to expose Minerva to the evil machinations of Malfoy.

However, all that would change once he told Hermione about Minerva's comments and drastic action would not only be possible but eagerly sought.

Hermione was reassuringly ruthless about people who were in her bad books.

The water needed several heating charms before he finished thinking his way through all the angles. This would need careful management, but would almost certainly involve Lucius having to do some work for a change. 

He found that prospect cheered him up immensely. 

Hermione was annoyed to find that she had little chance to talk to Severus over the first couple of weeks of term, which passed in a blur of activity. There was more homework than usual, due to the Newts looming ever closer, and Hermione wished she could have the timeturner again. She barely had time to keep her own head above water, much less sort out the boys' homework timetable, and no time at all to further their plans for taking over the Wizarding World.

Severus hadn't said anything about talking to Professor McGonagall, so she presumed that he hadn't done so, and that if pressed would simply say that he was waiting for the right moment, after a great deal of grumbling that she didn't trust him to carry out a simple task.

Severus seemed to be almost as busy as her, and they barely managed to exchange a word in passing. He'd made the mistake of giving one of his classes extra homework for breathing too noisily on a Monday morning, and was reaping the whirlwind he'd sown in the guise of an extra 210 feet of essays to mark.

It did little to improve his temper, and it was only as they entered the third week of term that either of them had time to spare to catch up.

Hermione had returned to their quarters immediately after dinner instead of going to the Gryffindor common room, and found Severus sitting on the sofa, his jacket off, and his shirt unbuttoned with a glass of wine in his hand. It was the most relaxed she had ever seen him.

"You're early," he said.

"Mmmm. I'm having the night off," she replied. 

"Care to join me?"

Hermione dropped her satchel on the floor, flopped gracelessly onto the sofa next to him, and kicked off her shoes. Severus summoned another glass, poured out half a glass, and passed it to her. "That's nice," she said. "I do miss having a glass of wine with dinner."

"It's the only bright spot of a horrid day." He took a long sip. "If the words 'additional essay' ever pass my lips again, please Stupefy me so that I can be taken to the Infirmary where I clearly belong."

"I promise, though it seems selfish to keep that pleasure for myself."

He smiled.

"I wish someone would do the same to Professor Flitwick," she said. "Do you know he set an extra three feet on Invisibility Charms last week, and another four feet on Dillusionment charms this week? Isn't there some sort of rule against that?" Hermione finished her glass, and wondered whether another one would be forthcoming.

"And the bitter irony is that I set additional essays as a punishment, and everyone thinks I'm a complete bastard, and he sets them for fun and do we hear a word against him?" Severus said.

He wiggled the bottle suggestively at her, and she held out her glass to be refilled.

"Don't worry – they think Flitwick is a bastard as well," she said. "I certainly do."

"Now if that were to get out in the Staff Room…"

"I'd have to tell Gryffindor that you snore."

"I don't snore!" 

Hermione shrugged. "You say that, and I have no way of knowing otherwise, but they don't know that."

"You're utterly heartless."

"I was taught by the best," she replied. "So you've only yourself to blame."

"This is true," he nodded, and prepared to drop Minerva in it from a great height. "And I have been delightfully sneaky this week, all on your behalf."

"That sounds fun."

"Moderately so." He prepared to drop Minerva in it from a great height. It was his duty to pass on the details of her lapse from reason, in case Hermione thought that they ought to select another Minister; that it would ensure any complaints about the lack of progress was directed at someone other than himself was nothing more than a fortuitous coincidence. "You will be pleased to hear that there has been some movement at last. However, Minerva is proving… a little difficult."

"Hmmm?"

"Apparently she thinks we are soul mates, brought together by the unfathomable workings of fate, and destined to be together for all time. She thinks that your very natural gratitude at being rescued has matured into something more … tender." He'd deliberately waited until she'd been about to take another sip of wine, and was amused to see her splutter it back into her face. "She's been spending far too much time with Trelawney, if you ask me."

She didn't say anything for a moment, concentrating on wiping off her wine moustache and catching her breath. "Soul mates?" she gasped, torn between outrage and laughter. "Minerva thinks we are soul mates? I'm certainly surprised at how well we're getting on, all things considered. You've barely deducted house points from me for months."

"I have feelings for you that transcend the mere taking of house points," he replied. "I worship the ground that you walk upon, and, though I'm not certain about this, we may well be conducting a passionate affair. Or perhaps I lie awake at night in my lonely bed and dream of a future with you; I'm not sure which one Minerva considers to be most likely. Whichever it is, I can assure you that we are in love. Our marriage is Romantic."

She didn't laugh, which was both worrying and gratifying. "I can sort of see that," she replied, stopping his heart cold. "You did rescue me, after all. If you'd heard about someone else doing it, you might think it was romantic."

"I am not romantic," he spluttered.

"Well, I know you're not; which is where the whole thing falls down. But considered in the abstract, saving someone from Lucius Malfoy is romantic."

"More like bloody stupid," he muttered.

"Well, isn't that the same thing?" she asked.

Severus, who had been worried that Hermione's brains were showing the same signs of softening as Minerva's, was relieved by that comment.

"Besides," she added, "Imagining that this is some great romance allows Minerva to stop feeling guilty about the fact she's doing nothing to stop the Ministry."

Severus considered that. It made sense, of a sort. He wasn't experienced in the realms of guilt, being rather more inclined to feeling that he was being taken advantage of, and anyone who crossed him deserved what happened to them for being stupid or breathing too loudly or being Gryffindor in the wrong place. There were things he felt guilty about, but they weren't the sort of things that you could wriggle out of by means of a flexible conscience and some dodgy logic.

He had done bad things; he ought to feel guilty about them, and there was no way out of that. The idea that someone could opt out of responsibility by inventing an entirely new and deranged world view was wholly new to him.

Though it had to be said that Lucius had been living in another universe for years. As far as he was concerned the sun shone out of his arse and the world rotated round him – presumably because of the location of the sun – and any evidence to the contrary could be disregarded but that hadn't got anything to do with feeling guilty.

The nearest Lucius got to guilt, was the chairs in the dining room. 

"The world's gone mad," Hermione breathed, almost to herself.

"Not the world; just Minerva," Severus replied. "Are you really sure we want her to be Minister?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "Well, even if she has lost the plot entirely, I still say she's a better choice than Lucius. Even Dumbledore is a better choice than Lucius. Bugger it, the Giant Squid is a better choice than Lucius."

"Not by much."

"What did she say, when you asked her about going into politics?"

"Erm, well, I didn't actually ask her about that as such." Severus said, trying to convey that he was reluctant to talk about the conversation for some mysterious reason, and tempt her into asking more questions. She was the very devil for getting to the bottom of things. If the Ministry didn't snap her up to be an Unspeakable when she graduated, he would be very surprised.

"And you're going to tell me why that is, aren't you? Because I'm sure there was a good reason." Her voice was level, but not questioning. It was probably a very effective technique when applied to Harry and Ron, but it took rather more than a sharp tone of voice to impress him. If you hadn't been crucioed several times and forcefed Veritaserum, it didn't count as a pointed question.

He wasn't going to mention that to Hermione, in case it gave her ideas.

"Every time I tried to discuss it with her, she started talking about how I had to be open with you about my feelings and try to be positive. She was one step away from giving me advice on how to woo you; there was no way I could persuade her to listen to me. At the very least I thought I'd leave it until next week before trying again."

"The very least?"

"I thought it might be sensible to hand the matter over to Lucius. He can paint a nasty picture for her of poor innocent Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors being coerced into marriage by eilv plotting Slytherins. She's bound to think the worst of Lucius – who doesn't? – but for once this would work to our advantage."

"Sounds sensible," she said approvingly. "The difficulty is arranging the meeting. I can't see Professor McGonagall accepting an invitation to dinner from Lucius Malfy."

"There's a Governor's meeting in a couple of days, which means that Lucius will be coming to Hogwarts. It's much easier to conduct negotiations when all parties are under the same roof, and it's a damned sight less suspicious if we do it under Dumbledore's nose."

Hermione frowned, considered the matter and then sighed. "All right. I s'pose we'll have to rely on Lucius. You don't think Albus would notice anything do you?"

"His attention will be entirely taken up with making sure that the Governors don't cut his budget. Voldemort may have gone but the internecine machinations of that august body still continue, largely because Lucius has somehow managed to hold onto power and is determined to cause as much trouble as possible, and in his case that's an awful lot of trouble. This does mean that Dumbledore will arrange for an urgent message to call him away at some point, so that he can go and hide in the Room of Requirement with a good book, and a nice glass of wine and leave all the hard work to Minerva and I."

Severus swung a foot backwards and forwards, which paused on the upswing so he could admire the polish on his boots.

"Which is a lesson to us all," he said sententiously. "Merely because something is a constant source of irritation does not mean that you can afford to ignore it in the hope it will go away. Particularly if it means turning your back on a dangerous enemy."

"Do you mean you or Lucius?" Hermione asked.

Severus smiled almost dreamily at the fire. "Oh I think Lucius is far more dangerous than I am."

"Hmmm," said Hermione. "I think that that's only true in this case because we are on the same side. Something for which I am extremely grateful."

Marriage had taught Hermione two things, the first being that the way to a man's heart probably was through his stomach and the second, that flattery had the power to melt the hardest heart: even the peacock likes to be told he has a fine tail. 

"How kind of you to say so," he replied. "Though I have to ask myself what Herculean task you have in mind for me to perform to justify such an encomium."

"Can't someone pay you a compliment without it being about trying to get some advantage?" she asked.

"Not in my experience, no." He was only half-joking, she realised.

He settled further back on the sofa, settling himself before the fire like a cat. Without his usual jacket, she could see the line of his arm through the fine linen of his shirt, and the subtle articulation of his wrist bones shifting as his finger moved down the page. He was different like this. It wasn't just that he had shed the armour of Professor Snape with his coat, but that it was possible to see how the future Second Mrs Snape could find him attractive. He wasn't conventionally handsome, but he had a certain physical presence: a way of moving that, outside the classroom, had an altogether different effect than intimidation. 

She presumed it would have a different effect on others anyway, although she was immune to it. Obviously, she was immune to it. She did not and would not think of Severus like that at all. She was merely considering the effect he might have on a putative and contingent Second Mrs Snape. It was necessary to think about things like this in a hypothetical manner so that she could meet her obligation to find him a new girlfriend.

Absolutely. 

Hermione was less experienced at lying to herself than Severus, and therefore had less chance of convincing herself that she hadn't been assessing his sexual attractiveness from an entirely personal perspective and coming up with a positive response. This was all Minerva's fault for suggesting that Severus was her soulmate. 

The boys would be shocked senseless if she ever told them. They would also be horrified to realise that girls spent their evenings in the dormitories comparing and contrasting the attributes of their fellow male pupils because girls were only interested in romance and hearts and flowers and didn't look at pert bottoms at all. And they certainly didn't speculate about size of ahem equipment.

She had at various times admired the form of Draco Malfoy (though not the personality), Dean Thomas and Blaise Zabini. She may like books, but that didn't mean that she was entirely dead to the charms of the opposite sex. She was also aware that this didn't mean that she wanted to pursue a relationship with any of them, and in the case of Draco she didn't even want to talk to him more than was strictly required.

So finding Severus attractive from certain angles didn't worry her. She would only have a problem if she started seeing him as attractive from all angles. She'd seen him in his nightshirt; that wasn't very likely.

She really would have to make sure that those shirts were replaced by pyjamas before he was put on the market again; they were guaranteed passion killers. He may be able to lure some young lady into his bed after a couple of dates, but he wouldn't be able to maintain a relationship once it moved into the cosy living together stage unless she got rid of them. Perhaps the house elves could be persuaded to have an accident with the laundry?

In the space of ten minutes, Snape had moved from someone who had to be appeased frequently for the sake of an easy life into the category of 'people who needed to be taken care of', though still with an eye to appeasement. Once you had broken bread with someone – even if that bread was crumpets – you had established a truce. The addition of chocolate and wine to the equation moved you almost imperceptibly from beyond a truce to friendship though not quite as far as soul mates.

The warm glow didn't last long.

A fire suddenly flared up, and the Headmaster's face appeared. "Professor Snape, if you could come to my office…" He noticed Hermione sat on the sofa and checked. "There is a confidential matter I need to discuss with you."

"Can't it wait until morning, Headmaster?" Snape replied.

"Indeed, not," Albus replied coldly and his head disappeared and the flames died down before Severus had a chance to respond.  
He sighed, levered himself from the sofa, and put on his teaching robes with obvious reluctance. "I swear that he deliberately times these requests to ruin any chance I might have to relax."

"I wonder what it's all about? You don't think he knows about, you know, what we're up to."

"I don't think that's very likely. It's far too early to attempt a direct confrontation on that little issue – he'd want us to get ourselves much deeper into the mire before he tried to put a stop to things. It's much more likely to be some trivial matter of discipline." Severus stood up, stretched until his bones popped, and then reluctantly put on his robes. "Don't fret; I shall tell you all, though I expect Potter knows all about it already. He usually does. If there is such a thing as an anti-Secret Keeper, he's it."

Hermione grinned. It was a fairly accurate summation of Harry's career at Hogwarts, though it did seem to overlook her own contribution to the cause of Sneaking and Spying. "I'll head off to the Common Room then, and see if he knows anything." 

Severus nodded. "Let me know what you find out."

"Of course," she said, and it didn't even occur to her to wonder at how far they had come in four months that she took confiding in him for granted.

The corridors seemed oddly deserted for so early in the evening, and she only bumped into a couple of groups of students on her way to the common room. They looked at her, giggled, and scurried off away from her, still gossiping. This was worrying. Hogwarts had a rhythm to its life, and whenever the gentle eddies of the students round the building were disturbed it generally meant something bad had happened to someone.

Now that Voldemort had gone, it was more likely to be something trivial like a fight or someone caught snogging the wrong person, but it still made her nervous.

Whatever was going on was clearly big, because the Gryffindor common room was in uproar. It was also clearly to do with her in some way, as everyone in the room stared at her when they noticed her standing by the portrait hole.

"Of course Hermione wouldn't do something like that," Ron was shouting, caught out by the sudden lull.

"Hermione wouldn't do what?" she asked.

"Someone made an offer for Sylvia," Ron said, glaring at everyone impartially. "This lot of morons think you had something to do with it."

"Under the Marriage Law?" she asked blankly.

"One of the Averys," Parvati added. "His younger brother, I think."

"Which makes him about forty," Hermione said. "Good god. I had no idea. When did this happen?"

"It came in the post this morning," Parvati replied. "Didn't you notice?"

Hermione shrugged. "I was going over my homework. I wouldn't have noticed the end of the world. Not unless it came with a note saying I was excused essays for the week."

Some of the Gryffindors chuckled, and a little of the tension in the room eased off.

"Yeah," said Ron and glared at everyone impartially.

"It's just you did have that fight with her," Parvati said. "And you're a bit… erm… vindictive."

"I am not vindictive," she protested. "When was I ever vindictive?"

"Well, there was Umbridge," Lavender said.

"And you did Petrificus me," added Neville, and they all nodded agreement.

Aware that she was losing the argument, and a little hurt that one or two incidents over the course of her academic career were being blown out of all proportion – you may as well say she was only sexually attracted to teachers because she'd fancied Lockhart and married Severus… and that argument wasn't helping either.

"Well, I didn't have anything to so with it," she said, sounding a little sulky. "But I know who might have some answers."

"Malfoy," Harry said.

"Malfoy," Ron confirmed.

"I think we need to make a little trip to the Slytherin common room and see if we can Have a Little Word with the ferret," Hermione said. "I happen to know that Professor Snape is with the Headmaster at the moment and can't be disturbed."

And the three of them grinned. It was just like old times.


	22. In which there is some progress

It was difficult to persuade the other Gryffindors to allow the three of them to go on their own. It wasn't that they were feeling like going to the rescue of Sylvia, as she was a member of another house who'd done nothing to endear herself to people, but if Draco Malfoy was going to be turned into a ferret again everyone wanted to see it.

Hermione, aware of the risk of things getting out of hand, pointed out that if all of them went then they would be spotted in no time, Snape summoned from the Headmaster's study and not only would everyone be in detention until the start of the next millennium but they would miss their chance to 'have a little word'.

By the time they had been convinced, argued about the right number of people to go, conducted a brisk round of scissor paper stone to choose the three lucky students and actually made is as far as the portrait hole, Hermione was shifting from one foot to another in nervous anxiety.

At this rate her husband would be back in their rooms and she would have nothing to report but a lot to explain.

"Will you lot come on," she said. "We haven't got long."

"What do you think Dumbledore wants with Sn… Professor Snape?" asked Ron, as they scurried along the corridors.

"Dunno. He didn't say. I'll find out later though," she replied.

"He'll tell you," Harry blurted.

Hermione nodded. "Of course."

"He would never tell us anything about Voldemort," Harry said.

"I don't think Dumbledore would let him before," Hermione said. "I just don't think he's listening to Dumbledore any more. I don't think he feels he has to."

Harry just grunted.

"How are we going to get into the Slytherin common room?" asked Seamus, who'd been one of the Chosen Few.

"I though we'd stand around the doorway and wait until someone wanted to go in," Ron said, grinning cheerfully. "And then we'd ask him – politely – what the password was."

"It'll probably be something silly like Slytherins are Sexy," Hermione said. "They may pretend that they're subtle and sophisticated, but they can't resist a chance to show off."

"And are they?" Seamus asked, nudging Ron with his elbow.

Hermione looked at him, her eyes flickering leisurely over his body before returning to his face with a final verdict. "Sexier than your average Gryffindor," she said.

"I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear that," said a voice from in front of her. She turned round to see a group of eight Slytherins, with Draco to the fore, strung across the corridor. "I'd hate to think that my charms were fading so early in my life."

Ron snorted. "What charms?"

"And even more relieved to find that they are utterly wasted on Weasley," Draco added.

Ron grinned. "I don't know; I'm sure you'd look good in a skirt."

There was a horrified silence from both groups as they wondered whether Ronald had something that he ought to be discussing with Lavender, and what Draco would look like in a skirt and coming up with an answer that they didn't like – probably not bad.

"If you'd keep your perverse fantasies to yourself, I think we'd all be grateful," Draco said. "We have serious business to discuss. At least, I presume this was why you were coming to see me with your little entourage?"

"She's here to talk business," Ron said. "We're here to see if she's going to hex you."

The other Gryffindors nodded.

"I'm hurt by your lack of faith, Granger." Draco grinned. "Didn't you think you could handle me on your own?"

"I notice you didn't come alone," she replied.

"Gryffindors are notoriously hot-headed," he said. "And I'd rather like to get out the fact that I had nothing to do with this before I got hexed, rather than afterward and then have to listen to you babble on about how sorry you are."

"I don't think I've ever said sorry to you before," she said, eyes fixed to his wand arm in case of sudden movements. "I don't see why I should start now."

"You should be more respectful," Theodore Nott said from the safety of the back of the group of Slytherins.

"Shut up, Nott, or you'll be taking your bollocks home in a paper bag," Hermione said flatly, not even looking at him. The Gryffindors grinned. If they couldn't watch Draco being hexed, another Slytherin would do at a pinch.

"Oooh, I'm scared Mudblood," he whined in a reedy falsetto.

"Notty, try not to disgrace the name of Slytherin would you?" Draco added, sounding very much like his father. "Whilst Granger is being helpful to us, we don't call her Mudblood."

"Are you still being helpful to me, is more to the point," Hermione said.

"I am filled with a spirit of beneficence," Draco replied. "As is my father."

"That'll be a first then," Hermione replied.

"And hopefully the last. That kind of thing could become a habit, and then where would we be? People might take us for Hufflepuffs." Draco invested Hufflepuff with the same loathing that he usually brought to the word Mudblood.

"Nah, you'd have to develop a conscience first, and I can't see that happening any time soon," Ron said.

"Funny," Draco said flatly, and pulled his lips back to bare his teeth.

"I thought so," Harry murmured.

Draco reached out to take Hermione by her arm. The Gryffindors made a move towards their wands, matched by the nervous Slytherins. "I'm only going to take Granger into that corner over there so we can do some plotting," he said with heavy patience. "It's not as if I'm abducting her at wandpoint."

Harry and Ron kept their eyes fixed on the other Slytherins whilst she and Malfoy moved a discreet distance away. The rest of her honour guard were stupid enough to think that they needed to watch her to make sure that she came to no harm. It was mildly irritating that they should think she wasn't capable of beating ferret boy in a fair duel, and even more irritating that they shouldn't realise that the important thing was to make sure that it was a fair duel by stopping someone from hexing her from behind.

There was nothing like spending seven years fighting a Dark Lord to hone your tactics beyond the usual Gryffindor approach of charging in all wands hexing.

"So," she said. "If you're innocent, why were you on your way here?"

Draco snorted. "You don't have to be a genius to work out that, once you heard the glad tidings, you would automatically assume the worst. Naturally, this would lead to you asking me what was going on, such queries to be delivered in an unsubtle and direct manner, probably involving wands. Now, whilst I would usually take great pleasure in sneering at your lack of subtlety, my father believes that we have to put up with your appalling manners – at least for the duration of the pact."

Hermione glared at him.

"I shall also be forced into be deplorably direct in my answers to the queries that are bubbling away under that frizz," Draco continued, in that same airy tone that he had copied from his father and which made a girl want to slap him. "The Ministry leaned on Avery, who seems to have been being a bit of a naughty boy recently, which, to be fair, followed a long career of being a naughty boy, and one who was spectacularly careless on the issue of evidence, so that there was any number of opportunities for that leaning to take place. There was nothing my dad could do. Well, to be fair, there was something he could have done, but it would have cost an awful lot of money and would have tipped the Ministry off that there was something going on."

Hermione wanted to object that Lucius should have got his finger out anyway, but she could see his point. "I suppose we could use it to put more pressure of Professor McGonagall," she said thoughtfully. "You know, make her feel guilty."

"I'm aware of the concept in principle," Draco replied. "I don't have a great deal of personal experience with guilt – having led such a sheltered life – but I'm told it can be a powerful motivator. Best of luck with that."

Hermione thought that was probably true – Malfoys seemed to have guilt removed at birth. She also thought that it sounded like something that his Dad would say. In fact, she'd bet it was something that his Dad did say.

She didn't point this out; he was being useful, and she'd like that to continue.

"Are we done then?" Draco asked. "Only I've got a lot of homework to do and it's a bit chilly out here."

Hermione nodded.

"We really must do this again sometime. Always a pleasure, Granger," he said. "For you, at least."

Hermione let him have the last word, but it was a strain. Politics was a bloody business, and she could see why people turned to Dark Lording to get their own way. Imperio was incredibly tempting. Or poison.

Severus was in their quarters when she got back there. He looked exceedingly fed up, the kind of fed up that couldn't be improved by the consumption of cockroach clusters, or even brandy, though he was making a determined effort to test that theory.

"I have just spent an hour or more being sobbed on," he said, from his position in front of the fire. "And I hold you personally responsible."

"Surely it's Harry's fault," she replied, kicking off her shoes and settling onto the sofa.

"Er, why?" Severus' train of thought was pretty much derailed by the introduction of Potter into the scenario. Usually he was happy to blame Harry for everything and anything but even his fertile brain was having difficulty coming up with a connection in this case.

"It usually is, unless it's Neville's fault."

"Very funny," he replied, taking a substantial swallow of his brandy. "However, in this case the fault is entirely yours. Our damsel in distress is convinced that you have been plotting with the Malfoys…"

"Which is true."

"… to arrange her marriage to Avery fils and ruin her life."

Hermione gaped at him. "What? Because she was a rude cow and pulled my hair a bit? She's demented."

Severus didn't deny the accusation, and looked as if he agreed. "As a result I spent fifteen minutes with her sobbing, clutching at my robes, and begging me to stop you from carrying out your evil plan, and a further half an hour explaining to Albus that no, we hadn't put Avery up to this and it was all the work of the Ministry." Severus smiled wryly. "I'm not entirely sure he was convinced by my assurances that you weren't a Dark Lord in the making, and that our visit to Malfoy Manor was solely to placate Lucius, as he seems to think you have a nasty streak a mile wide."

"Then Albus is demented as well," Hermione said indignantly.

"My dear girl," he replied. "You do have a nasty streak a mile wide. I rather like that in you - you're not some insipid, weak person who allows things to happen to them. You get hold of life by the scruff of the neck, and shake it till you get what you want. I have, however, promised to keep an eye on you, and Albus is busy congratulating himself about his forethought in not allowing you to marry into the Malfoy family and creating a dynasty of tyrants."

"After all I did to help Harry…" Hermione humphed. "It's outrageous."

"Welcome to the Dark side," Severus said, moving over to the decanter for a refill.

"If I'm going to take up Dark Lording, I shall need an entirely new wardrobe. More black, for starters, and a bit revealing – nothing tasteless, but something that will make men worship at my feet."

"You're not prancing around Hogwarts in your nightie," Severus replied. "You'll catch your death of cold, and I'll be the one who has to listen to you complaining, and have to make your cold remedies."

"Well, how else am I supposed to rise to power?"

"You'll just have to settle for blackmail, murder, mayhem, and imperio, like the rest of us."

Hermione gurgled with laughter. "Spoil sport."

"Always," he replied. He settled in the armchair by the side of the fire, sticking his long legs out in front of him. He held the brandy glass in his left hand, and swirled the contents absent-mindedly. "So what did you find out?"

"Draco says it's nothing to do with Lucius." Hermione shrugged. "I think I believe him."

"I can't see that there's any advantage to him in arranging this," Severus agreed. "And he's not someone who acts unless there is an advantage."

"He won't do anything to stop it either." Hermione sighed. "I'm not sure whether there is anything to be done to help her - other than hope it's a long engagement and we manage to get the law overturned before she actually has to get married."

"Certainly we might try to persuade the Ministry that it would be better if she were allowed to complete her schooling." Severus scowled at his brandy, then took another gulp.

"I did wonder whether the situation might prod Professor McGonagall into agreeing to help?"

"Yes, that is a possibility." Severus' face brightened. "I shall be sure to mention that to Lucius as a potential tactic. It'll be immensely entertaining to watch someone with no conscience attempt to play the guilt card."

"Let's just hope it works, for Sylvia's sake."

"Let's hope it works for my sake. My robes will never recover from all that weeping."

"You poor thing," Hermione replied.

"It's nice to see my wife and helpmeet giving me the sympathy and support that my suffering deserves," he said, entirely straight faced.

"Isn't it?" Hermione's smile was only half-hearted. "I wonder who's going to provide Sylvia with support though?"

Severus didn't reply, but took another sip at his brandy. It was clear that there wouldn't be many volunteers for that role. Hermione couldn't quite bring herself to care.

Hermione spent several extremely uncomfortable days being whispered about, glared at by Ravenclaws, and having first years trying to turn themselves invisible in an attempt to avoid her.

Sylvia burst into tears whenever she saw Hermione, and would then be surrounded by a group of cooing girls who would pat her on the back and offer her hankies.

It made Hermione sick. Cooing was all well and good, but what Sylvia really needed was a smack round the left ear, the insertion of a backbone, and the loan of some really decent potions books with the chapters on poison carefully bookmarked.

Severus was mildly sympathetic to this opinion when she mentioned it one evening, but told her firmly not to go lending out any of his more interesting books. She was welcome to attempt to get a trip to Azkaban if she wanted, but he didn't fancy accompanying her.

He was sympathetic in other, more practical ways, as well. He didn't chase her from their quarters – she was starting to think of them as their quarters – and made no comment about the way she'd started sitting on the sofa in an evening reading a book. Occasionally, if he'd had a particularly trying day, he would share a glass of wine with her.

But she knew that she couldn't spend all her life in their rooms no matter how much she wanted to. Ron and Harry did their best to support her, but Ron had Lavender to think about and Harry had Quidditch to think about. It was a sad state of affairs when Snape was more pleasant company than her fellow students in the common room.

Even the library was hostile territory these days, but she made it a point to sit there every night until she had completed her homework. She wasn't going to back down – she had nothing to be ashamed of.

By the time the Governor's meeting arrived, Hermione was so pleased to see Lucius that she went so far as to nod at him in greeting. More than that would not be appropriate. She couldn't be seen to be too friendly with the Malfoys – the other students were already calling her Mrs Snape and wondering if she'd been mis-sorted.

He'd condescended to nod at her in return, before being swallowed up by a group of Slytherins eager for their chance to suck up to a man who epitomised all that a Slytherin ever wanted to be. He was rich, he was powerful, and he had a mysterious ability to avoid jail for his transgressions.

Now that she'd seen the Malfoys at leisure, she was able to tell that Lucius had dressed for the occasion. Not his finest robes - that would have been vulgar - but better quality than the ones he wore at home. It made you wonder wondered if she'd seen him wearing the wizarding equivalent of trackie bottoms, the sort of thing that Muggles wore to laze around and watch telly in. Perhaps, when he didn't have guests at all, he hung around the manor in his underpants and a string vest and ate his dinner off a plate balanced on his gently rounding stomach.

Her imagination began the process of unclothing Lucius, then stuttered to a screeching halt before she had even managed to remove his outer robes. That kind of thinking was only going to lead to trouble, if only because of the wide smirk that she was wearing as a result.

Duty done, she headed off to the Library, horrified with herself and determined to expunge such speculation from her mind by a doing her Arithmancy homework.

Lucius occasionally wondered the same thing about Hermione. He wasn't impressed with the current crop of Slytherins: their flattery was obvious, their toadying lacked style, and they were all over-impressed by their own cleverness. Hermione was distressingly direct, but if she'd had seven years in Slytherin what could she have been?

He didn't think that sort of thing very often, because that might mean he was wrong about blood superiority, and Malfoys were never wrong. Hermione was an exception, and that was that.

He excused himself from his audience, and asked Draco to walk him to the meeting.

"Any news?" he asked.

"Granger accepts that we had nothing to do with Avery's offer," Draco said. "What's more, she appears to accept that there was nothing more we could do about Avery's offer."

"I do wonder quite how we ended up in a position where a mere Mudblood's opinin should be so important to us," Lucius replied.

"Look, Dad. Hermione isn't going to give up politics once she's had a taste of success. It'll be equal rights for House Elves next, or something equally ridiculous. And, because she's a friend of Harry Potter, and because she's fairly unscrupulous, she's going to get her way most of the time."

Lucius scowled.

"This means that it's important to stick close to her. It also means that we are in the best position to take advantage of this knowledge – all the other pureblood families will be cut out of power.

"I've created a monster," Lucius said.

"Yeah, well, it's not as if you haven't done it before. At least this one has a nose," Draco replied.

It was one of life's disappointments that other Malfoy's were immune to the patented Malfoy glare. Draco just grinned up at his Dad, and added, "I'm sure it'll be fine, as long as we manage to keep Granger away from the Dark Arts."

"Draco, my boy, you still have a lot to learn…" Lucius put up a hand to cut off his son's protestations. "Granger wants to make the world a better place, that's far more dangerous than a taste for the Dark Arts."

Draco considered this. Lucius wondered quite when his son had grown up, and, though he felt a strong sense of gratitude that he actually had, was sorry to have missed so much of it. "Then we'll have to find something to distract her, won't we?" Draco said. "And quickly, because I think she's nearly read all of the books in the Hogwarts library, and the NEWTS will only hold her for so long."

"The traditional distractions are power, money, knowledge and sex," Lucius mused.

"Zabini?" Draco said.

"Do we really want to bring the two of them together?" Lucius asked. "He's the only student in your year who has even a smattering of Slytherin about him. That's something of a risk. I would have thought the Nott boy was a better candidate."

"Millicent still has Notty chained to the bed, and isn't likely to take kindly to being asked to share. Bless her. And Zabini is bright enough to see the opportunity that Granger represents, but not bright enough to realise how to manage her. He'll think she's ripe for taking advantage of, and should be grateful he's taking an interest in her, and it will all end in disaster."

"For him," Lucius said.

"For him," Draco agreed. "But it would probably keep her occupied for at least a term or two."

"And this suggestion owes nothing whatsoever to Zabini's current interest in Miss Parkinson?"

"Not as such, no," Draco replied. "Pansy is a little irritated with me about l'affaire Granger, but not sufficiently irritated to do anything more serious than flirt with Zabini – though he's too stupid to realise that. However, if I were to take such obvious steps to remove my alleged rival, then Pansy would feel that her standing in Slytherin House has been restored, and I might get a little peace and quiet."

Lucius' lip twitched. "You do know that any peace and quiet will be a temporary affair?"

"Oh yes," Draco replied. "Isn't that half the fun?"

"But only half," Lucius said. "One really shouldn't underestimate the delights of seeking and holding of power – which is the only reason that I am prepared to spend even a minute in the company of an irritating old… why Albus, there you are – I was just telling Draco how much I look forward to these little meetings."

The Headmaster walked down the corridor to greet Lucius, flanked on either side by Professor MacGonagall and Professor Snape. Lucius nodded at them politely.

Albus looked like a man who had sucked a sherbert lemon to find only lemon and no sherbert. "I'm sure you were, Lucius," he replied, pleasantly enough. "I can't tell you how much I enjoy our get-togethers."

Lucius nodded. "I can imagine – it must be terribly dull here in the winter. You're so far removed from civilisation here in the wilds, that even such a familiar face as my own must be a welcome break from your routine."

"And I suppose that, in your book, civilisation begins and ends in England, and Wiltshire at that," said Professor McGonagall.

"Indeed not," Lucius replied. "I'm sure that Edinburgh and… many other places in Scotland… have a great deal to offer the discerning wizard – after all, it has produced many fine witches."

Professor McGonagall's eyes narrowed in a suspicious glare. Lucius rarely laid on the flattery with a trowel, so when he did, it was a sign that he was Up to Something. "Shall we?" She gestured to Lucius that he should precede her through the open door to the meeting room, and he demurred politely as any gentleman should.

"That wasn't very subtle," Severus said quietly to Lucius as they brought up the rear.

"No, but it will make the next three hours slightly more entertaining as they try to work out what I'm up to," he replied, equally quietly. "I must have something to keep me amused through this…"

"There will be tea and biscuits," Severus replied.

"Dare I hope for cake as well?" Lucius asked.

"No, but I have a decent bottle of brandy in my quarters – I can attest to the quality as you gave it to me – so you have that scant consolation to look forward to." It was tacitly understood that Lucius would also be providing a detailed account of his attempt to lure Minerva into their clutches – it was very good brandy, and Severus hoarded it like a miser.

The other Governors had already taken their places round the large table at the centre of the room, as had the other Heads of House. Pomona Sprout was busily loading her pipe with tobacco, and Lucius cast a discreet anti-smoke charm to prevent the smell from lingering on his clothes. He was sure she did it on purpose. He could live with it in return for a chance to peer down her ample cleavage. Lucius loved his wife dearly, and admired her pale beauty that matched his own so well, but it couldn't be denied that Pomona Sprout had a certain earthy charm.

"Shall we begin?" Albus asked, and they got down to business.

The meeting was every bit as dull as Lucius had feared, and he did nothing to enliven it. He asked serious questions about serious issues, and interminable questions about trivial ones. After an hour, they had covered barely a quarter of the agenda and it looked like they might still be there until midnight.

Albus cracked first, made some vague noise about old men and weak bladders and left the room. Shortly afterwards, a House Elf delivered a note to Professor McGonagall. She tsked in irritation. "The Headmaster sends his apologies, but he is unable to return – a sudden emergency."

There were faint murmurs of sympathy though gritted teeth, as everyone faced up to the fact they'd been left in the lurch yet again.

"Dear lady, if I might make a suggestion?" Lucius said.

Minerva nodded, clearly not trusting herself to say anything in the face of such rank provocation as Dear Lady when she was already peeved by Albus' defection.

"Is there anyone who has any objections to any of the other proposals on the Agenda?" Lucius fixed the other Governors in turn with a look composed of three parts hauteur to one part death threat, and they all lowered their eyes and shook their heads. "I think we can safely assume that the other measures are all passed nem con, then – and that concludes our business here, don't you agree gentlemen?"

They did agree, and were quite glad to agree – and not just because agreeing was likely to be conducive to their continuing to be in good health. Getting out of a committee meeting an hour early gave them an hour of their life that could be spent much more profitably. Even painting the back bedroom was more interesting than a Governor's meeting, though it wasn't likely that any one of them would be doing anything more useful than stopping off at the Hog's Head for a cheeky half and a packet of pork scratchings.

Snape escorted Sprout and Flitwick out of the room before they had a chance to realise that Minerva wasn't among the hordes stampeding for freedom, leaving Lucius and Minerva facing each other across the table.

"The last time I saw a room clear that quickly, Albus had asked for volunteers to teach sex education to the seventh years," Minerva observed. "Now, why have you gone to so much effort to talk to me?"

Lucius found persuading Minerva of his good intentions to be harder than he had expected. It was fortunate he wasn't a sensitive soul, or he might have taken offence at the way she kept her hand firmly on her wand throughout their discussions.

"I am here to make you a proposition…"

Lucius didn't know whether to be amused or offended by the look of horror that crossed Minerva's face. He was aware of the rumours about his sexual peccadilloes, had even started some of them himself, but the idea that he would go to this much effort to proposition a Witch some twenty years his senior was ridiculous.

"…on behalf of certain interested parties, who think that you have just the qualities we are looking for," he continued.

"What sort of qualities?"

"Honesty, probity and a reputation for taking no nonsense."

"I find it hard to believe that those qualities are in any way sought after by you, or any of your acquaintance," Minerva replied.

"Indeed not." Lucius acknowledged the truth of the remark with a faint smile. "However, desperate times call for desperate measures – we would like you to stand for Minister for Magic."

"You think I should be Minister? Why? What on earth are you up to? And who is we?"

Lucius thought she was taking it rather well, all things considered. She hadn't rejected the idea out of hand, which meant that he had a negotiating position.

"The present Minister is a fool, and this plan of forced marriage will lead to nothing but misery for all concerned," he said.

"You've never minded him being a fool before, and you were happy enough to take advantage of the Marriage Law yourself not so long ago," Minerva shot back.

"His stupidity has never been anything other than politically convenient in the past; now he's being politically inconvenient, and it has to stop." Lucius' fingers tightened round his cane in a careful show of anger. "It is outrageous that I should have been forced to enter into such an arrangement, to treat my son as nothing more than cattle to be traded as breeding stock."

"And that's why you bid for Hermione Granger is it? As a mark of protest against the law?" Minerva scoffed.

Lucius arched an eyebrow. "As if there were the faintest chance that the Order would allow her to marry into my family…"

Minerva frowned. "And that's why you chose her? You knew we'd intervene?"

"Miss Granger… Mrs Snape, I should say… rather took matters into her own hands, which really wasn't a surprise, though her choice of husband certainly was. I rather expected her to be Mrs Weasley by now."

"I think she and Severus make a lovely couple," Minerva said.

Lucius paused. "Do they?"

"They do," she replied firmly. "And I'm not going to be involved in anything that might allow you to split them up."

Ah.

Lucius was accustomed to people thinking the worst of him, it was mostly very convenient that they should do so, but he was intrigued to find that he was plotting against Severus rather than with him.

Here, then, was the heart of Severus' difficulty in persuading Minerva to be their candidate, and here, too, was the reason that he couldn't explain that difficulty to Lucius.

"Perhaps they do make a lovely couple," he said eventually, making a note to keep an eye on the pair of them when next he had a chance. Romance between the two of them seemed an unlikely prospect, but it might provide the distraction that he had been searching for and one that would last much longer than Zabini ever would.

"Certainly I think that Hermione would have been wasted on a Weasley," Lucius continued. "That, however, is not the point. The point is that my son wishes to marry Pansy Parkinson and no one else. The point is that there are other, innocent witches, who don't have a Severus to rescue them, and the Ministry is putting increasing pressure on the Pureblood community to comply with the law."

"You expect me to believe that you give a damn about innocent witches?" Minerva asked, her voice dripping sarcasm.

"No," Lucius replied. "But I expected you would."

Minerva opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it, and snapped her mouth shut again.

Lucius knew she was hooked. All he had to do was reel her in.

Hermione spent the next few hours after seeing Lucius sitting in the Library. She was dying to know what was happening but thought it better to stay out of the way until Lucius had gone home and she could talk to Severus in private. He was likely to be much more informative that way, and she wouldn't have to put up with the superior Malfoy attitude that made you want to slap him.

Like father, like son.

So, it was a bit of a shock to finally make her way back to their rooms late that evening to find that Lucius occupying her spot on the sofa. He was not only sitting in her place, but was drinking a glass of wine, and chatting to Severus as if they were the best of friends.

They probably were the best of friends, she realised. Severus had more in common with Lucius than he ever would with any of his colleagues here, no matter that they had turned out to be on opposing sides. It made her feel oddly disgruntled, almost jealous.

She hesitated only for a moment, and then plonked herself down on the other chair, the guest chair, the one that Lucius should be sitting in. "So," she said.

There was a fleeting impression that Lucius was disconcerted by her presence, which would have been heartening, but it was gone so quickly she couldn't be sure. "So, indeed," he replied.

Hermione didn't ask any of the questions that were trembling on her lips, but ran through a list of things that she could do to Lucius that would cause him vexation and irritation, would be utterly untraceable, and would not interfere with her current plans for world domination.

It wasn't a long list, but she could make it her life's work to add to it.

Her lack of reaction forced Lucius into making the opening conversational gambit. "Minerva McGonagall has agreed to be our candidate," he said.

"Really?" Hermione said.

Severus scowled. "No."

"I may be interpreting the text a little, but that did seem to be the gist of our conversation," he said. "Sylvia's plight, being accompanied by much wailing and shedding of tears, has touched that stony spinster heart of hers, and she is considering the suggestion that she should be our compromise candidate for Minister."

"Only considering? Your famed powers of persuasion must be fading," Severus said.

"You did want me to stop short of Imperio, didn't you?" Lucius enquired, raising an eyebrow. "I seem to recall those being the terms we agreed. She will say yes, though. I'm sure of it. She just needs time to get used to the idea."

Severus grunted

"There's no need to thank me." Lucius smiled.

Hermione doubted whether Lucius had ever helped anyone in his life unless there had been something in it for him. Judging by his smile, which broadened when he looked at her, he could at least guess what she was thinking. So she smiled back. From the outside this would all look very pleasant, and not at all like the congregation of alligators that it was. The only question, was who was going to end up being turned into a handbag?

Not her, for one. Hopefully it would be the Minister. The soon-to-be-ex-Minister.

Now there really was something to smile about.


	23. Chapter 23

It took Minerva precisely two days to agree to become the next Minister of Magic.

Severus, not entirely pleased at Lucius' ability to get round Minerva, waited another three days before informing him of this. He also scrawled a comment across the bottom of the note to the effect that his powers were obviously failing if it took as long as that, and it was all down to the ground work that he had put in anyway.

He regretted it almost as soon as he'd sent it, because that gave rather too much away.

Lucius' response was calculated to infuriate and inflame.

Dear Severus,

I note your comments on the matter with interest, and, though I accept that you had a certain amount of influence over our esteemed soon-to-be-Minister, I do think that you overestimate your own contribution. It is unfortunately the case that Minerva – I'm sure that she won't mind if I call her Minerva – was reluctant to become involved in our little plan as she was trying to protect the course of true love.

But once I had reassured her that I had no intention of seeking to separate the happy couple, all her reservations melted like the snow in summer.

You and Miss Granger do make such a pretty couple; I can see her point. You really must tell me how you managed to manoeuvre her into asking you to marry her – such a masterful plot, though I should know better than to underestimate my dear old friend. I am a little surprised, though, that you didn't see fit to inform me of your interest in the girl – I would have been only too happy to step aside in your favour.

Who am I to put such vulgar matters as wealth, power and influence above friendship?

However, now that I am aware of your interest in this area, I think it only right to bring to your attention that Miss Granger may have attracted the attention of a member of our House. I wonder if it might be better to allow it to run its course, or to bring her to heel before the matter has a chance to develop?

Do let me know what you decide, and do feel free to ask an older, and if I might venture, more experienced, man for help in the lists of love.

Your friend

Lucius.

At first glance, it was nothing more than rank provocation and Severus took it as such. After ten minutes, his blood pressure had returned to normal, and he was able to work through the intricacies of the damned thing.

Lucius was never as subtle as he thought. He'd always had money, power and prestige and those had always been enough to get him out of most difficulties in life. He'd never really had to plot the skin off a rice pudding, not without a Dark Lord to tell him what to do or Narcissa to hold his hand, but this seemed even more of a mess than usual.

Hermione had drawn the attention of one of his Slytherins – who, how, why? And, more importantly, why on earth should he be expected to care?

Unless Draco really did fancy Hermione, and that was what had been behind the marriage offer in the first place, and this was Lucius' attempt to …

No, whatever way he looked at it, that letter made no sense at all to Severus. The only thing to be done was to keep an eye out for trouble, for trouble there would assuredly be.

Vaguely, Severus wondered what it would be like to be bored. He'd like to try it sometime and see if it was really as dull as it looked; he could do with more dull in his life.

Hermione wasn't allowed to see the note that Lucius sent in reply. Severus said it was none of her business, that he didn't have to explain everything to her, and went to bed early presumably to sulk. Whatever it had said, it had reduced Severus to frothing indignation and drove her back out to resume her life amongst the other students. Harry and Ron were pleased to see her, but that was about all.

Severus had recovered from his bout of bad temper by the time of her next class with him, which is to say that he still managed to reduce Neville to a quivering pile of nerves, merely by opening the door to the classroom with his usual verve. Hermione was pleased to see he was back to his usual self and was looking forward to a night spent back in their rooms sitting on the sofa and reading one of his books.

Potions lessons were always poised on the edge of disaster, usually for Neville, but always for someone. That someone was rarely Hermione. She had rarely been on the receiving end of Severus at his worst, even before she married him in, as long as she kept her hand down in classes. But it seemed he considered that it would be some breach of etiquette to be particularly horrid to her now, and even more of a breach to actually ask her a question.

She was resigned to sitting in lessons watching other people flail around for answers that should've been obvious to somebody who had spent five minutes reading the books that they had been set the week before. Her only satisfaction was the thought that it was probably just as irritating to Severus as it was for her.

Possibly even more so.

"Right," he said. "Today we will be brewing a rather dangerous potion. Anyone who dies during the course of this lesson will be adjudged to have failed Potions; anyone who injures himself during the course of this lesson will be put into detention. I suggest you pay a great deal of attention to the instructions I'm about to give... that includes you Mr Zabini. If you could drag your attention away from Mrs Snape, I would be grateful, unless you think the instructions of today's lesson can be found written on her back."

Hermione, whose shoulder blades were trying to burrow their way towards each other, did not turn round and look to see what the Zabini was up to. As far as she was concerned, she had an overwhelming interest in the patina of the desk before her.

From the corner of her eye, she could see that the rest of the students were also keeping their heads down in the hopes that the storm would pass over them.

"Sorry, sir," Zabini said. "I was just distracted, and Mrs Snape's back was coincidentally in my line of sight, nothing more."

"Indeed." Professor Snape glared at him, and then turned his attention to the rest of the class. "Well, what are you waiting for? Start brewing!"

The class worked in silence, punctuated occasionally by the pop of a flame or the squeak of an implement on chopping board Hermione tried to concentrate on the task at hand, but she had this funny feeling she was being watched, and not just by Sylvia's friends looking daggers at her back.

Zabini was watching her, and it was giving her the creeps. He'd never even glanced at her before, other than the occasional evil glare in the corridors, and she couldn't imagine why he was suddenly taking an interest in her.

It almost put her off her potion, which wasn't quite the rich purple colour it was supposed to be. Severus would usually have marked her down for turning in a sub-standard piece of work like that, but he merely pursed his lips, called it 'barely adequate' and told her to run along to her next lesson.

'Barely adequate' was the nicest thing he'd ever said about her work. It was all very confusing.

"Harry," she said, as they settled down to do their homework in the Library later that day.

"Have you seen anybody peculiar watching me, more peculiar than usual anyway?"

"Oh, you mean, Zabini?" Ron said, riffling through her potions essay.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, haven't you noticed him?"

"No," Hermione said. "He usually sits behind me in classes, right at the back, where all the other children who are too cool to work sit."

"You mean, where we would sit if we had half a chance?" Ron replied.

Harry ducked his head, and took an interest in his homework, so that Hermione couldn't see him smile.

"Surely you would prefer to have the best view possible; you wouldn't want to miss anything, would you?" Hermione asked.

"Of course I want the best view possible," Ron replied. "Which is why I would like to sit at the back, you get a lovely view of... Hermione, I think that Zabini fancies you."

"I don't think so," she said. "That would have come on a bit suddenly, wouldn't it? Much more likely to be something to do with Malfoy, some sort of cunning plan."

"It's not very cunning then is it?" Harry said.

"Not very, but then perhaps we are supposed to notice, perhaps that's the cunning bit." Hermione couldn't think of a reason why Zabini would be watching her, which suggested that it was at least a moderately cunning plan.

"You could always ask Professor Snape," Harry pointed out.

"I could," she replied. "But then, perhaps that's what I'm supposed to do. You never know with these cunning plans, do you?"

Harry grinned, then Ron asked her a tricky question about potions and she forgot all about the mystery of Blaise Zabini. It was nowhere near as interesting as the intricacies of Ron's spelling.

Zabini said good morning to her as they passed in the corridor three times the next day.

When he did it again the next day after lunch, she stopped. "It's not morning," she said.

"I know."

"So, why say it?"

"Because I knew you'd have to correct me." He smiled, and sauntered off down the corridor leaving Hermione to glare at his back.

It seemed that everywhere she looked there was Zabini, watching her, smiling at her, saying something meaningless to her as they passed in the corridors. She found herself watching him at breakfast through narrowed eyes wondering what the hell he was up to, and keeping a careful eye on who he was talking to at the Slytherin table.

Everyone knew that he and Malfoy were as thick as thieves, but Malfoy was supposed to be on her side, or she was on his, she wasn't quite certain… So maybe it was something to do with Nott, who he also spent a fair amount of time talking to, or Parkinson.

He was talking to Nott that morning at breakfast, waving his hands around in a way that was all too familiar to her. They were talking about Quidditch.

Zabini saw her watching him, and winked at her.

"D'you fancy Zabini or something?" Ron said, interrupting her train of thought

"What?"

"Well, you keep looking at him." Ron looked faintly puzzled. "You would tell us if something was going on wouldn't you?"

"Yes… no." Ron looked even more worried. "Yes, I would tell you; no, there isn't anything going on. Well, that's not strictly true, something is very obviously going on, I'm just damned if I can work out what it is. He keeps being… nice to me. It's driving me round the bend."

"Perhaps he likes you?" Ron glanced over at the Slytherin table and frowned. "It's possible, I suppose."

"Ordinarily, I wouldn't be happy to hear that note of disbelief in your voice that suggests that I'm about as attractive as a flobberworm, but in this case I'll let it pass," Hermione said. "Because I think the idea that Zabini has suddenly been overcome with a rush of affection for a muggleborn witch is about as likely as you deciding to do your homework without being nagged."

"Which means he's up to something."

"He's Slytherin; they're always up to something," Harry said. "Even when they're not up to something, they're only doing it to either lull you into a false sense of security or to play with your mind by making you worry about what they're up to."

The three of them looked at Zabini, and assessed his levels of smugness and suppressed excitability with the air of connoisseurs. They were experienced interpreters of Slytherin signals.

"Up to something," Harry said.

"Yep," said Ron.

"I agree," Hermione said. "But what?"

"Ordinarily, it would be something like luring you out to meet Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Perhaps one of those rituals that involve virgin sacrifices," Ron said, his eyes still fixed on Blaise.

"Can't be that," Hermione said. "Not under the circumstances."

"Yeah, 'cos Voldemort is dead," Harry said.

"That too," Hermione replied, and both the boys went slightly pink and goggled at her. "I meant that, contrary to popular belief, there are no rituals involving virgin sacrifices. Not unless you count goats. Honestly, don't you two know anything about the Dark Arts?"

If anything, the boys goggled more.

"Is that what Aberfor…No, don't tell me. I don't want to know," Harry said, eyes wide.

"No, he was just turning them funny colours – Muggles could have seen them and everything. That's why he got into so much trouble," Hermione replied.

The boys relaxed minutely.

"No, the fascinating thing about the Dark Arts is that usually they involve … shall we say the more mature witch, presumably because her power is felt to be more, well, powerful. So someone like your mother, Ron, or Professor McGonagall would be a much better choice of sacrifice," Hermione continued. "It's a bit irritating really, though obviously a bit of a relief from the point of view of the younger witch who can feel sure that they aren't going to be used to bring back people from the dead. But why should we be considered to be so utterly useless when it comes to the Mortalis rituals, that's what I want to know?"

"Because an older witch, especially one that has brought children into the world, is presumed to have stronger ties to her family, which gives the ritual greater magical energy to pervert," Blaise said, from a position behind Hermione's left shoulder.

"Eep," she said.

"A very old witch would be considered to be so close to death already that there isn't any point in using one – their energy already partakes of death, so there's nothing to pervert," he continued, ignoring her startled squeak. "Though there are some modern writers who think that using virgins might be acceptable, provided you called upon the right aspect of the triune goddess at the time. Unfortunately, they aren't really able to experiment with the rituals, so their comments are only speculative."

He smiled down at Hermione, who couldn't think of a thing to say in reply because, whilst she was dying to know who these modern authors were, she wasn't going to admit to ignorance in front of the poster boy for Pureblood supremacy now that Malfoy was being all new and improved and caring for all members of the Wizarding community.

"I was wondering," he said. "If you were free this weekend. It's a Hogsmeade weekend."

"Er, yes," she said.

"Good. I'll meet you in the Entrance Hall, at the usual time then," Blaise replied.

Hermione nodded at him, he smiled broadly and then strolled back to the Slytherin table with three pairs of eyes boring into his back.

"Please tell me you don't fancy him," Ron said, still watching Zabini.

"I don't," she replied.

"Me neither," Harry said, and Ron threw a roll at him.

"I do fancy seeing how far he's prepared to take this though," Hermione said. "The Zabini library isn't quite the equal of the Malfoy collection, but it's close. If I can persuade him to lend me some of them…"

"You are not allowed to become the next Dark Lord," Harry said firmly. "I won't have it. I've only just got rid of the last one, and I don't fancy killing one of my best friends because they develop a taste for black robes and hanging round in cemeteries."

"Don't worry; I've already had that speech from Severus: no Dark Lording allowed. Message received, though I think you're all spoilsports." Hermione picked up a piece of toast and bit into it decisively.

"Well, now you know how we feel – you keep telling us we can't play Quidditch until we've done our homework, so we get to stop you Dark Lording. It's only fair." Ron assumed an air of indignant reproach.

"But I've done all my homework," Hermione replied, swallowing her toast with a gulp.

"So I think that means I'm allowed to indulge in a hobby or two."

"You'll just have to settle for being the youngest Minister for Magic ever," Harry said. "And that's my last word on the subject, though if you're very well-behaved and pass all your NEWTS at Outstanding…"

"…or higher…" interrupted Ron

"…or higher," Harry continued, "then we will let you play Quidditch. You can't say fairer than that."

Hermione sighed and helped herself to another piece of toast. She may not be allowed to be a Dark Lord, but at least she could have seconds, and with jam too.

Severus had seen the conversation between his wife and Zabini and drawn some obvious conclusions. Lucius had obviously set the boy the task of seducing Hermione – why, Severus had no idea.

The Malfoys owned the Zabinis, though they didn't make that known to the wide world, keeping a discreet distance in public. They also owned the Crabbes and Goyles but even Lucius couldn't have thought that Hermione would go for either one of them. Nott… Hermione might have enjoyed his company, if he could ever stop being a prat, but hell would freeze over before that happened.

No, Zabini was the obvious choice for the task, being young, attractive and sufficiently twisty to realise that walking up to the girl and going 'oi, how about it Mudblood?' wasn't going to work.

Severus couldn't work out what Lucius was up to.

Was he supposed to rush to save his wife from the predatory Blaise, thus revealing his great love for the girl and falling into each other's arms and billing and cooing on the sofa? Surely Lucius knew him better than that.

Or was Blaise supposed to distract poor, innocent Hermione from politicking by introducing her to the pleasures of the flesh? That seemed more likely, because Lucius really didn't know Hermione at all – even if she did succumb to the dubious charms of Slytherin's Self-proclaimed Sex God, she'd draw up a timetable to schedule extra-curricular nookie in and still have time to do her homework three weeks early and bring down the Ministry.

And he was fairly certain that Hermione was too bright to be taken in by the rather shop-worn charms of young Blaise, though he was wondering whether he ought to mention that…

Ah.

That was the plan then. Have him try and intervene and put her back up, leading to hours of tedious quarrelling and a less than united front when it came to dealing with Lucius.

Mystery solved, Severus' tactics were clear – don't get involved – so it was a bit of a surprise to him when the first words out of his mouth by way of greeting to Hermione that evening were, "So, I saw you and Zabini were having a nice chat at breakfast?"

"Mmm, he was talking about using virgins in the Mortalis rituals, and then he asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him this weekend."

"Typical – this school really does need a decent DADA teacher. Who on earth thinks you can use virgins to bring back the dead?"

Hermione shrugged. "I wondered that. Zabini said it was new thinking."

"Ah, that'll be his uncle Bertram again. He's always trying to convince young people that their continued virginity could lead them into all sorts of difficulties, and then generously offering to relieve them of that burden."

"Is that what passes for a chat up line in Slytherin house? Do you want to come back to my room and read some grimoires, and by the way have you seen this spell for raising the dead? What, you're still a virgin? I really think you ought to do something about that. Why yes it does involve us having sex, but it's a sacrifice I'm prepared to make?"

"Bertram Zabini is a Ravenclaw," Severus said, very much on his dignity. "And in Slytherin house, everyone knows the proper way to raise the dead; they'd never fall for it. Though I do recall you could have the elder Crabbe for a packet of Fizzing Whizbees, if you wanted. Most people preferred the Fizzing Whizbees." Severus was on the point of making a spectacularly vulgar comment about Crabbe, Fizzing Whizbees and things melting on your tongue, when he remembered that Hermione was too young to hear it.

"Er, and did you say yes to going to Hogsmead?"

"Oh yes, how else was I going to find out what he was up to?"

Severus smiled. Lucius was going to be cross when his little plan failed. He'd better start composing witty retorts to rub that disappointment in; it really wouldn't do to be unprepared.

It did not escape Hermione's notice that Draco was looking spectacularly smug when Zabini crossed the Great Hall at breakfast to make the final arrangements to go to Hogsmeade. Someone really needed to give the boy plotting lessons, but it wasn't going to be her.

Or her husband, judging by the way he was eyeing Draco with faint amusement.

Zabini was early to their meeting, watched fondly by most of his house, who were distributed around the courtyard pretending to be deeply interested in anything and everything that didn't involve the couple. He smiled at her, and she almost wished that asking her out wasn't some sort of ploy because he was a very handsome boy.

"Zabini," she said coolly.

"Granger." He smiled at her again. "Hermione. I thought we might take a little tea this afternoon. If that's acceptable."

She nodded. "That would be pleasant."

"And I promise not to talk about Quidditch at all. Not one word."

Hermione laughed, and a ripple of interest went through the courtyard. The Zabini magic was working yet again.

And it was. He was charming, witty and attentive. He asked her thoughtful questions, and listened to her answers, held out her chair for her at the café, and insisted on paying for her hot chocolate and biscuits. He played the part of the perfect boyfriend faultlessly. She enjoyed his company for whole minutes at a time before remembering that he was up to something.

"You're very good at this," she said, as she sipped at her hot chocolate.

"Wooing attractive young ladies?" he asked, fluttering his eyelashes at her in an exaggerated manner. They were very nice eyelashes, she noticed. And nice eyes, too.

"That too." She smiled, suddenly fed up with sitting there playing games. "I haven't noticed the slightest hint of how uncomfortable you must be talking to a Muggleborn."

His smile faltered for a moment. "If it made me uncomfortable, I wouldn't be doing it."

"So your sudden interest in me is utterly unrelated to my little arrangement with Lucius."

His eyes narrowed, as if he had suddenly noticed her properly for the first time. "Arrange…? No, nothing to do with that at all – it just occurred to me that if my Head of House found something in you to admire, then you must indeed be admirable."

Hermione gave him bonus points for continuing with his mission in the face of overwhelming curiosity about her arrangement, and why she was suddenly on first name terms with the elder Malfoy. "Severus is such a sweetie," she said. "I am really very fond of him."

Blaise looked uncertain. "Are we talking about the same man here? Tallish? My Head of House? Wears black a lot? Sweetie?"

"Oh yes." Hermione smiled the confident smile of a woman who had half a pound of cockroach clusters in her room.

Blaise said nothing for a moment, his eyes flickering over her, examining her minutely, trying to work out what her secret was when it came to Severus-taming. "I'm sure he appreciates your loyalty," he said. "But don't you find it a little dull down there in the dungeons with him. You can't talk about Potions all the time?"

"We don't."

"And there is the age difference, that must be difficult."

"Not really." She frowned, thinking about it. "He's… so much more experienced than me; he has a lot to offer."

Blaise's mouth opened wide, and he tried to say something twice, thinking better of it both times. "Erm, experienced?" he said, eventually settling on a way to ask for more information without actually coming out into the open.

Hermione blushed, realising what he was inferring from her comments, and Blaise took that as confirmation of his suspicions. "Gosh," he said. "Right. Erm, would you like another hot chocolate?"

Once, a long time ago, a different Hermione would have been the sort of girl to take pity on Blaise but that girl had been extinguished by war, and by being messed around just once too often by inimical forces. She smiled sweetly. "That would be very nice, thank you. And then you can tell me all about you. And Draco, of course. You must have spent a lot of time at the Malfoys over the years."

He ordered a fresh pot of chocolate, and prepared to tell her as little as possible.

Hermione grinned. She was really getting the hang of this Slytherin business.

Severus was waiting for her when she got back to the castle. He didn't say anything as she took off her cloak and scarf, and kicked her boots off, barely raising his eyes from the book he was reading.

"I had a lovely time," she said. "Thanks for asking."

His lips twitched, and he condescended to put his book down. "And why would I be interested in the romantic goings on of my students?" he asked.

Hermione snorted. "There was nothing romantic about this, and you know it. And I did rather think that you'd be interested in knowing what Zabini was plotting."

"I already know," Severus replied. "And I have every faith that you dealt with him appropriately."

Hermione smiled, warmed by the thought that he trusted her to do a good job. "I did. I've certainly got a bit of blackmail material over Draco, and what he was like as a toddler."

"Small," Severus said. "With a tendency to lisp. Lucius doted on him, still does."

"And a habit of running run round with no clothes on, from what I hear."

"That doesn't seem to have changed much with the years either," Severus replied. "Not if half the tales that come out of the Slytherin Common Room are true. Not that I told you that, of course."

"Didn't hear a thing," Hermione replied cheerfully. "I've decided one thing though. I shall always marry Slytherins. I'm sorry to have to say it, but they're much more fun than Gryffindors."

"You liked Zabini that much?" Severus asked, faintly perturbed.

"Hardly. But I was thinking… if you get a post-divorce party to help you find some amenable blonde… Perhaps you could return the favour. Not with blonds exactly, but with single Slytherins. Who better than the Head of Slytherin to find someone suitable – a couple of years older than me, bright, charming and, obviously, not too sniffy about bloodlines. There must be some."

Severus nodded. "There are some respectable boys I wouldn't object to introducing to my ex-wife."

"I'm terribly afraid that you've corrupted me," she said.

"On the whole, as that's saved you from a life of married tedium, I think that's a matter for congratulation."

"I certainly wasn't complaining. It's a lot more fun than being some goody two-shoes."

He fixed her with a stern glance, the sort that made first years tremble, and said, "Just remember though – no Dark Lording."

Hermione sighed. People were no fun.

Hermione had rather expected that Blaise would leave her alone after their trip to Hogsmeade. The way she looked at it, either he had obtained the information he was after, or he would have realised that she wasn't talking. Neither scenario required him to actually talk to her again.

But he did.

It took him a couple of days, and several wary glances at Severus, but eventually he plucked up the courage to cross the great divide between Slytherin and Gryffindor to sit next to her in the library.

"Are you using that book," he asked, pointing to Fretsch's Follies which lay open on the table.

"Not at the moment," she replied, trying to sound polite but no more than that.

"Did you find it helpful on question three, or would I be wasting my time reading it?"

"It's got a chapter on the Prime theorem," she replied, and braced herself for a flood of questions on the topic. She was used to doing people's homework for them, or, rather, she was used to people wanting them to do their homework for them.

"Good." He sat down, pulled the book towards him, and started to read.

"Erm, don't you want to know what it says?"

"I prefer to find out myself, thanks."

She found that disconcerting. If he didn't want to talk to her about plotting, or homework, what on earth was he doing sitting there? She watched him as he turned the pages, seemingly oblivious to her presence, though she wouldn't put money on that. He was playing with her mind, the git.

She forced herself to concentrate on the particularly tricky Arithmancy problem she'd been saving for a treat but it refused to resolve itself neatly. That was her life, she thought, just when you thought you'd got the bloody thing sorted out, it went and changed and turned out to be a lot trickier than first impressions led you to believe.

She scowled at the page, and drew a fierce line through her workings. In her distraction she started to draw little stick figures on her page in various postures. One, a bit like Harry, had tufts of hair sticking up and was carrying a broomstick, so there had to be a little Ron following on behind… She carefully drew some freckles, floating just in front of his face, and gave him a broomstick too. And then there was a snitch, and that made her think of all those Quidditch matches that she'd been to watch, so she put another figure on a broomstick hovering above them and looking miserable.

So that would be a Slytherin, of course. So he should have a big, turned down mouth to show how unhappy he was and how much he was suffering.

Her paper was suddenly twitched out of her hand, and Zabini chuckled. "I didn't know you were an artist, Hermione. Is there no end to your talents?"

"No start to them," she said dryly, well aware that artistry was too large a claim to apply to her scribblings.

"I think there's something missing… if you'll allow me."

He didn't wait for permission – she'd noticed that Slytherins rarely did – and took up his own pen, to add to the gallery. He drew a female stick figure, with long, curly hair, and several books in her hand, that had to be her. And then he added another figure, which he spent a lot of time drawing, scrubbing it out when it didn't please him, that could only be him.

His figure was standing very close to hers. Very close. Almost as close as Zabini was sitting next to her.

Then he muttered something under his breath, and the figures began to move even closer together, until they were embracing, then more than embracing because Zabini's little stick figure was a very forward little stick figure.

Hermione blushed bright red. Then, being a sensible girl, she picked up her pen and started to draw: a tall figure, taller than Zabini, with long black robes, a beaky nose and a very large wand in his hand.

Zabini laughed softly in her ear. "Really? That big? I can see why you're so loyal then." He tapped his wand on the paper, freezing the figures in place at a particularly pornographic moment. "I can take a hint, but don't think this means I'm giving up."

He swung his bag over his shoulder and left the library, with something of a strut about his departure.

She crumpled up the paper, and tucked it into her satchel. She had to burn the bloody thing before anyone else found it, but she wasn't going to dash out of the room now. It would look like she was pursuing Blaise.

He did seem to be pursuing her though, which was just … odd.

And not something she could really discuss with Severus.


	24. Chapter 24

Hermione didn't pay a great deal of attention to the calendar, other than as a way of keeping track of her homework, and Harry's and Ron's birthdays. The beginning of February meant, to her, three feet on the transfiguration of animate objects, two feet on the use of civet musk in healing potions – and how she was to stick to that limit, she didn't know – and as much as she wanted to write on the Goblin Rebellions, which turned out to be quite a lot.

The beginning of February meant rather more to her fellow students.

Valentine's day was looming, and even the first years were looking round for someone to pair off with, so as to avoid the shame of having no cards on that day. Hermione was vaguely aware of a little more giggling than usual, but that was about it.

Others were taking more of an interest, and not just for reasons of Romance.

Severus had noticed that Blaise was continuing his pursuit of Hermione. Blaise had noticed that Severus had noticed that he was continuing his pursuit of Hermione, and he had also noticed that Severus wasn't making any particularly hostile move to object to that pursuit.

Hermione had noticed that Blaise was continuing his pursuit, but was oblivious to the rest of the Slytherin posturing going on because of the particularly heavy homework timetable for that week. She was still more interested in her NEWTs marks than in boys, no matter how decorative.

Harry and Ron had noticed that Blaise wasn't going away, and they had noticed that Hermione wasn't making him go away – and they had no doubt about her ability to make him go away if she wanted to – and they had even noticed that Snape wasn't intervening, which just goes to show that they weren't taking their homework as seriously as they should.

Ginny had noticed everything, including how good-looking Blaise was, and thought Hermione was a lucky cow, apart from being married to Snape.

Draco was clueless.

He could see who was doing what, and to whom, or who they'd like to be doing it with, but he had no idea why. This worried him, and he kept looking at his forehead wondering when the scar was going to turn up, his hair turn brown and people were going to start calling him Potter.

Or worse, Weasley.

Of course, he could have asked Blaise what he was up to, but that was cheating, and would have led to him losing Slytherin Cool Points, and that was unthinkable. So he glared at his house mates, and the Gryffindors in equal measure, and wondered if he could persuade his Uncle Severus to teach him Legilimency.

Probably not.

So the only thing to do was to take bets on who would end up with whom on Valentine's day, lay off the risk on the more unusual prospects onto the more gullible Hufflepuffs, and choose a suitable present for Pansy. Because, whilst the world was falling apart around his ears, one thing was certain – getting Pansy the wrong Valentine's day gift was not a good idea.

Hermione would have been impressed by the meticulous planning that Draco put into the arrangements, and even more impressed with the complicated chart that he drew up to make sure that everything went like clockwork.

And then she would have been slightly concerned for the sake of the Wizarding World, because that sort of planning was just the sort of thing that Dark Lords should do, and never seemed to.

And then made a note in her diary to thwart his wiles in about five years time before he had a chance to start playing round with horcruxes. Though Draco, being vain, would never risk playing with anything that could mar the perfection of his profile.

What was the point of living forever, if you didn't have a nice nose?

Plotting, planning, and the drawing up of lists was a skill Draco had acquired from his father, and Lucius clearly had a spot in his diary marked for the 3rd February entitled 'Annoy Severus'.

The Owl, bearing the elder Malfoy's missive, arrived at breakfast. It was perfectly timed to cause maximum embarrassment and aggravation. He had the choice of opening the letter in front of the school and trying to maintain his composure, or having the bloody thing nagging at him all day.

He opted to open it.

Severus,

You will be receiving an invitation to spend Easter at Malfoy Manor with your good lady wife in due course. Narcissa has decided that it's time that she was introduced to the Witches' Institute, and if she is on her best behaviour and comes across like a perfect Harpy she stands a good chance of being the first Muggleborn to be invited to join.

Try and explain to her what an honour this is. Even my mother hesitated before crossing those ladies.

Mrs Zabini, in particular, is keen to meet Hermione, though she will be firmly instructed to leave the poison pots behind. I have pointed out to her that rumour is frequently exaggerated, and you're not one to stand idly by whilst his wife trifles with another, and she seems appeased by that.

Your old friend,

Lucius

Severus blinked.

That was the missive of a worried man, a man who had brought a pawn into play and suddenly realised that the queen was threatening him, and then had turned round and dumped the problem on someone else whilst expecting them to be grateful to him for the information.

Usually, Severus would try to handle things with tact and diplomacy, but Hermione was a Gryffindor and Blaise was a prat.

That was a little harsh, he reflected. Hermione was overcoming the disability of her House quite nicely, and Blaise would doubtless mature into a twisty and cynical Slytherin in due course.

In the meantime…

In the meantime, he was about to be forced into the role of jealous husband whether it suited him or not. Hermione, being Hermione, would only be keener to go out with Blaise once she heard about the threat, therefore young Blaise would have to be menaced, and menaced hard. He was very good at menacing. It wasn't a natural talent, but he had honed it through years and years of practice. He preferred menacing people to actually getting his hands dirty – it saved time, energy and cleaning up afterwards.

It was an opinion that he and Lucius shared, which was why they had managed to stay friends of sorts over the years.

He wasn't sure it was one that Mrs Zabini shared, which made the menacing rather critical.

He'd also brew some universal antidote for the Easter trip, just in case, and remind Mrs Zabini she wasn't the only one with a hand in the poison jar. Although he may have a habit of wearing black, he would prefer to avoid doing so as mourning for his wife.

Blaise had become rather complacent.

Being a smug bastard was practically required behaviour in Slytherin, unless you had settled for the role of minion and general factotum early in life. No one who had aspirations to the leadership of the Wizarding World – whether as Minister or future Dark Lord – could allow the faintest crack to appear in their air of superiority.

Nonetheless, even by Slytherin standards Blaise was a smug bastard. He was smugger, even, than the younger Malfoy. Not the elder Malfoy though.

No one had ever achieved the level of smugness generated by Lucius, even on days when he was feeling a little discomposed and unsure of himself.

He was an example to them all: Slytherin's grey-eyed boy.

Blaise could have done with acquiring more from Lucius than extra-smugging skills, like learning when to give up, but that was all right, because his head of House was about to take that duty on himself and complete his education.

But not quite yet. Fate is a tricksy bitch, and when she decides that someone needs to learn a lesson, she really rubs someone's nose in it. Apart from the Malfoys, who never seem to learn anything the hard way – perhaps Fate has a taste for blonds, or perhaps there was some truth to the rumours about the Dark Arts rituals involving perverse acts was true though it was probably just wishful thinking on the part of the Daily Prophet.

Probably.

They could have started the stories themselves, of course.

Blaise was so smug that he thought that the best time to ask Hermione out was when she was in the Library. Harry and Ron wouldn't be around – they were probably allergic to the place, though no one would ever know for sure as they'd never spent more than ten minutes in there – and he hadn't realised that Moste Potente Potions Parte II was more attractive to her than him.

He sat in the chair opposite Hermione and waited for her to notice him. He coughed gently, and when that didn't work he said, "Busy?"

Hermione nodded, and didn't look up.

Blaise assumed she was playing hard to get, and mentally awarded her several Slytherin cool points. She was; she just didn't know it.

"But surely you can spare me a little time? I was wondering if you'd be free next weekend…"

Hermione carefully marked her place, and looked at Blaise. "What for?"

Blaise blinked; this was taking the amassing of cool points too far. "Erm, a date?"

"On Valentine's day?"

Blaise nodded.

"But … haven't you got all the information you wanted?"

Blaise leaned back in his seat, giving Hermione the best opportunity to admire his physique and smiled significantly. "Oh, I'm sure there's a lot more to discover about you, Hermione."

Hermione wished she could raise an eyebrow meaningfully. It would be so much more convenient than trying to think of something to say that didn't make you sound like a pillock. "Possibly," she said, and hoped she was going to get away with that.

"Is that possibly there is more to discover, or possibly you might be available?"

"Both," she offered.

"I'll see you in the Hall at eleven, then," he said, then sauntered out of the Library without giving her a chance to say no, and well aware that her eyes were following him.

Not only her eyes; Hermione noticed that several girls were watching Blaise leave. In a school that thrived on gossip, it would only be a matter of time before that news was all round the school. It was just like Skeeter and the Tri-Wizard tournament with one important difference; this time there was something worth talking about.

The news took three hours to reach Harry and Ron, and it took them ten minutes to find her to discuss matters, cornering her in the common room as she worked her way through her Plotting Notes.

"Ah, you've heard, then?" she said, as they loomed over her.

"What are you thinking of?" Harry asked. "He's a Slytherin."

Hermione shrugged. "I like Slytherins. They don't talk about Quidditch all the time."

"There's nothing wrong with talking about Quidditch," Ron said, looking puzzled. "It's interesting."

Hermione poked him in the ribs. "Not always, and certainly not all of the time."

Ron batted at her hands, pushing her away. "A girl should want to listen to you talking about your interests. Mum always listens to Dad talking about his plugs and stuff."

"And your Dad listens to her as well, doesn't she?" Hermione asked, and Harry grinned at Ron's expression as he puzzled his way through that.

"You mean, I should ask Lavender about things she's interested in, like make up and stuff like that." Ron looked horrified.

"I don't think she actually wants to talk to you about make up, but it might be nice if you were to actually ask her what she's interested in occasionally. She might surprise you." She'd surprise Hermione if there was anything more in her head than make up and gossip, but it was always possible. And even if it wasn't, Hermione still owed Ron for several hours of her life spent listening to blow by blow accounts of great Quidditch matches in history.

"Blimey." Ron shook his head slowly. "Girls really are bloody complicated aren't they?"

"We are, and we aren't going to get any easier as you get older." Hermione grinned. "And Slytherin boys just seem to understand that better. I think it's to do with all the plotting that they have to do – it's the best possible training for romance."

"You are going to be careful, aren't you?" Harry asked.

Hermione smiled; she knew she was nothing more than a beginner in both plotting and romance, but she was looking forward to practicing them. She was a girl who liked to learn.

"Although I suppose male solidarity ought to mean that we should warn Blaise to be careful," Harry added.

"Your loyalty is touching," Hermione grumbled, wondering when Harry had decided that running at a problem all wands hexing wasn't the best way to deal with things.

"Isn't it?" Harry replied. "But you said it yourself; we've got to get some practice in plotting, so that we can understand girls, so really we ought to be stabbing you in the back, and forming new alliances."

"Still, mate, I think we should let him find out the hard way," Ron said. "It's not as if he's a Gryffindor – we don't owe him anything."

"I suppose so. Still, you owe us." Harry grinned.

"Mmm," Ron said. "There should be something in this for us… a bit of help with our homework perhaps? Or extra helpings of pudding."

"If you're prepared to do your homework on time, then I'm prepared to help you polish your essays," Hermione replied.

"Ah," Harry said.

"Extra pudding it is," Ron added, not slow to see the flaw in their approach.

"We really need to practice this plotting bit," Harry said, frowning slightly. "Or I'm never going to get a girlfriend."

"I wouldn't worry, mate. On that basis, Snape would be some sort of Casanova, and he isn't, is he?" Ron asked, adding very quickly, "Please don't answer that. I don't want to know," and they all burst out laughing.

Severus wasn't Casanova, he would be the first to admit that. There was, deep down, a little envy of the casual way that Zabini managed to cut a swathe through the girls of Hogwarts, and more than a little disquiet that his previously sensible wife should be taken in by the boy's flashy charms. He'd thought she was brighter than that.

He watched Blaise sauntering down the corridor towards him, and was reminded of so many young turks he'd dealt with over the years. All thinking that they had all the answers, and knew better than some old, sour bastard.

"Mr Zabini," he said, and the boy was brought up sharply. "A word, if I may."

Blaise straightened, his face carefully blank. "Sir."

Severus stalked into the nearest classroom, and gestured at the boy, beckoning him in. He was careful to remain standing, his arms crossed, and his robes flaring round him. Blaise noticed, eyes widening as he assessed the situation.

"It has come to my attention that you've invited my wife to join you for Valentine's day. This won't be happening."

"It won't?"

"It won't." Severus didn't bother offering an explanation – the only explanation that Blaise needed was 'because I said so'.

"And what does Hermione think about this?" Blaise stopped short of a pugnacious tone, but there was a faint note of rebellion nonetheless. Typical that he should suddenly start developing a backbone at a time when it was going to most inconvenience Severus.

"You will tell Mrs Snape that you have another engagement, and then you will find that other engagement." Snape used his best 'do it or die' voice.

Blaise blinked first in their Slytherin staring contest. "I like Hermione."

Severus repressed a sigh. He had thought the boy was simply after information and status, but it seemed he had more innocent motives; it wasn't surprising that he'd overlooked that, but it did complicate matters. If he wasn't careful the two of them would be sneaking round the castle imagining they were Romeo and Juliet, and look how well that had turned out. "Your mother doesn't."

"Ah." Blaise swallowed. "I take your point."

"Good."

Blaise's eyes dropped to the floor, veiling them from Severus' view. His stance was still stiff and tense, reluctant to believe that there was no way out of the situation. Severus almost felt sorry for the boy. Hermione was just the sort of lover a Slytherin would enjoy: bright, cunning and pretty. "Things may change, boy. Hermione is going to be a power in our society; once that process is completed, your mother may be open to persuasion."

"But never… but never anything permanent."

"You're that serious," Severus said, surprised.

"No." Blaise sighed. "No, not really. But I wouldn't want to insult Hermione by treating her as a convenience either. It's not wise, it's not sensible, and it's bloody short-sighted. I'd prefer to remain her friend, if possible. Or become one, more accurately."

"I should commend your sense," Severus replied.

"Yes, the perfect Slytherin thing to do," Blaise said bitterly.

"Life's a sod, Zabini. I'd like to tell you it was going to get better…Actually, it is going to get better – things are changing, just not enough, and not quickly enough." He put a hand on Blaise's shoulder, and squeezed it.

"Fuck," Blaise said.

"I'd say that was an accurate summation of the situation."

Blaise almost smiled at that. "She's going to kill me."

"I doubt it. She's a Gryffindor; they don't hold grudges. She'll probably forgive you before you leave school. Probably."

The smug satisfaction of a job well done carried Severus through till dinner time. Hermione was sitting with Harry, Ron and Lavender, as always, chattering away, happily unaware of the unpleasantness that had been avoided. It even survived the sheer horror of being late to the table and finding the only available seat was pressed between Sybill and Albus.

Truly, he thought, no good deed goes unpunished.

"Evening, Severus," Albus said cheerily, and all of Severus' alarm bells went off at once.

Severus recited the ingredients to a particularly nasty poison in his head, before he could summon up the composure to return Albus' greeting. The reason for his more than usual inanity manifested itself soon after: Minerva and Albus were in the midst of having a heated debate, conducted with fixed smiles, hissed comments, and bitter recriminations.

Lucius had once enquired, after a truly spectacular Governor's meeting which had seen the two of them sulking worse than a toddler deprived of a bag of sweeties, whether the pair were lovers, as they quarrelled so much.

"Like you and Narcissa," he'd replied.

"I am very fortunate in my wife," Lucius had replied composedly. "I believe the general population is less so."

"The disagreements are rather more profound than who used the last of the clean towels," Severus had replied. "Politics, or rather morality, which is different."

"Indeed." Lucius had smiled, made a mental note of the point, and murmured: "Perhaps I am more fortunate in my house elves than my wife then, if that is the cause of so much domestic strife."

"And shall I mention that to Narcissa?"

"Heaven forbid, where's your loyalty, man?" Lucius had tried to look wounded, and failed, not noticing Severus' wince at the mention of loyalty. That had always been a sore point.

It had been unlike Lucius to read a situation wrong, and Severus had wondered ever since whether there was something in the suggestion that Albus and Minerva had some closer relationship than Headmaster and critic.

He thought not.

This was not the tension of two lovers wrangling, but something more profound. Minerva didn't really approve of Albus or his methods, though she'd never admit it in public, playing the role of loyal confidant to the hilt.

"What do you think, Severus?" Minerva asked, seeking reinforcements.

Albus tsked. "Severus agrees with me; it's the only sensible thing to do. Hogwarts cannot be seen to oppose the Ministry in this."

"I don't know; I can see arguments either way." Severus wasn't going to commit himself before he knew what the argument was about, and not even then, if he could help it. "Though I cannot see that Ministry involvement in anything at Hogwarts can be good – it's the thin end of the wedge. If you give into them on this, they will expect you to give in next time and the time after that."

"But surely you can see that the Marriage Act is a good thing?" Albus protested. "We need new, strong blood to repopulate the Wizarding World, and an end to division between the pureblood faction and the muggleborns."

"If you think that shackling people together willy-nilly will erase differences then you have rocks in the head," Minerva snapped.

"It might, of course," Severus said meditatively. "If you mean that it will unite them against the Ministry."

Albus shot him a flat look. "As I recall, you were full of doom and gloom about this, saying that there would be murders before the purebloods would accept this, and yet there haven't been."

"They're waiting," Severus said simply. To see if Hermione's plan will work, though he couldn't say that. "But they will run out of patience soon, and when they do there will be blood. I think it would be prudent for the school to remain out of the fray."

Albus considered for a moment, then brightened as the solution came to him. "Perhaps, Minerva, as you feel so strongly about it, you might like to communicate your reservations to them."

"I shall be only too happy to do so, Albus." Minerva's lips pursed, and Severus felt a moment's pity for the poor sod who was going to catch it in the neck on the subject.

And Severus would see to it that the news of her principled stand would be relayed to the organs of the press. Minerva had just taken her first steps on her campaign trail.

Three days before Valentine's day, Blaise finally got the nerve to talk to Hermione. He'd have liked to have done something deft and suave to separate her from her companions, but he had to settle for a murmured request to see her alone.

"So what is it that's so important?" she asked, once they had found an empty classroom in which to conduct their discussion away from prying eyes.

"I like you," he said.

"Why do I get the feeling there is a 'but' coming?"

"Because there is." Blaise took a deep breath, and sought for the right words. "I like you, Hermione. You're fun and entertaining, and interesting."

"There's still a but, though."

"But ...look, there really isn't any good way to say this... but it's been made clear to me by certain Persons that our continued association is not welcome." He shifted on his feet, bristling with nervous energy, and ready to make a break for it if things turned ugly.

"Certain Persons? You mean my husband, I take it."

Blaise thought that honesty was rarely the best policy but even he could foresee that dumping his head of house in the cladgy was even more foolish, so honesty would have to do. "He was merely relaying a message from my mother."

"Your mother doesn't like me?" Hermione asked, brow furrowed. "I don't think I've met her, have I?" She'd crossed wands with a few Pureblood families on the battlefield, and that would account for someone holding a grudge. She could understand that. It would make sense. She just had the feeling that the answer to her question was going to be 'no', and the reason for Blaise's volte face was going to be one that would make her very, very cross.

"You haven't," he said simply. "That doesn't stop her taking a dislike to you on general principles, and I don't have to explain what those principles are."

"And you're happy to go along with that?" she asked, voice cool and calm, though there were sparks forming in her hair.

"Not bloody likely," he replied, eschewing sarcasm in favour of getting out unhexed. "But she's a nasty piece of work, and I know I'm not worth dying for."

"That bad?"

"Maybe." He shrugged, unwilling to discuss his mother with an outsider. "And," he said, inspiration striking, "the thing is that Professor Snape is your husband..."

He didn't have to spell it out. Mrs Zabini would have to remove Severus to get to her, or if she didn't, Severus would remove her. She blinked, struck by how odd it was to think that she knew him so well now that she could predict certain inevitabilities. It was as if she had taken a course in Snapeism, though only the beginner's course, she acknowledged ruefully; the details would take a lifetime's study.

She sighed. "Well, I can't twist your arm and make you go out with me, so I'll have to accept your decision."

"I would have liked..." his voice trailed off.

"Yeah, me too," she agreed quietly, and that was that. Her second big romance brought to a halt, before it had even started. A girl could start to take that sort of thing personally after a while.

Hermione came back to their rooms to find Severus on the sofa in front of the fire, half asleep. He'd been reading a book, which was resting half-opened on his knee, and his head on a cushion tucked behind his neck.

"You look tired," she said, half-prepared to be shouted at for her impertinence.

"I feel awful," he replied. "Moderately awful, anyway. There's some sort of cold going round the lower years, and they seem determined to be generous with their germs."

He did look terrible – his eyes were red and puffy, his skin was paler than usual, and has a bluish cast to it. "Oh dear. My dad always used to swear by a hot toddy; have you tried that."

Severus ran his hand across his forehead, and pinched his nose between his fingers. "I've just taken a potion of my own brewing, which does contain a generous helping of Firewhiskey, so that should help. Not that I was getting much sympathy from Poppy – she thought I was putting it on, to get out of supervising the Valentine's day trip to Hogsmeade."

Hermione stiffened, not sure how she felt about Severus' interference. On the one hand, it might have been necessary, but on the other hand, it would be nice if people included her in the decisions that affected her.

Rather more than nice.

Severus sniffled a little, and looked pathetic.

"Are you doing this to get out of supervising Valentine's day?"

"I'm hurt," he said, "that you should think that I would try such tactics."

"Tried it once, did you?"

"First year of teaching," he replied. "They force fed me Pepper-Up and made me go anyway."

"You poor thing." He would have done, of course. Never confront a problem head on, when you could sneak up on it. Which was all very useful, but very irritating when she was the one being sneaked up on. He was supposed to be on her side. "Why didn't you tell me?" she said.

Whether it was because he was feeling ill, or guilty, he didn't pretend not to understand her. "Blaise discovered an unsuspected talent for honesty, did he?" He sniffed a bit, then searched through his pockets for a hanky. "Frankly, I didn't want you taking him up as a cause. You can only take on one project at once."

"So, you were doing it for my own good?" She sat on the sofa, and tried to find the energy to glare at him, but he looked miserable and pathetic, and the gratitude she still felt for rescuing her outweighed her irritation at being managed for her own good yet again.

"Honestly?" He smirked. "And that's breaking a long-established habit…"

She snorted.

"Honestly, it was more for your benefit than mine. Brewing antidotes is time consuming and dull."

"You think it would have come to that?"

Severus shrugged. "Perhaps. Did you like him that much?"

"Not really." She sighed. "Not him so much, as the idea of him – the possibility of a relationship with someone who paid you compliments, and bought you flowers, and generally did – not High Romance, I suppose – did a bit of Cherishing." She looked at him, feeling faintly foolish. "I suppose you think that sounds silly."

"Not that much – we'd all like a bit of cherishing from time to time. My dream blonde, for one, will be very attentive. Until then, I shall labour for scant reward." He sniffled again, then blew his nose long and hard on the clean hanky he had abstracted from his pocket, before vanishing it.

"I bought you Cockroach Clusters," she protested. "That's some reward. It may be poor and inadequate, but it's not nothing."

"But you wanted something in return for them."

"Doesn't everyone? Isn't that what super deluxe boxes of chocolates with kittens on the front, wrapped in pink ribbon are _for_?" She grinned, feeling more cheerful for mocking romance rather than pining after it.

"True. True." He coughed weakly, and rummaged around, looking for another hanky. "But where is the fair maiden to soothe my brow in my hour of need," he said, taking on the die away airs of Trelawney at her most feeble.

"Here." Hermione stood up, and put her hands on her hips, very much in the manner of Molly Weasley. "Or, at least, the nearest thing you're going to get, which is nagging wife."

"The honeymoon is over then," he said.

"Well, I am about to order you into bed." She blushed a little at that, but carried on, hoping he wouldn't react. "You should have an early night with a hot water bottle and a nice bowl of soup, and I'll tell Professor McGonagall that you're at death's door. She'll believe me."

He glanced at the clock. It was still early, but he did feel like hell. And an opportunity to skive should not be passed over. "Chicken soup?" he asked, hopefully.

"If you like. I'll bring it in to you."

Severus allowed himself to be bundled into his room slipping into his nightgown whilst Hermione chivvied a house elf into producing some soup.

By the time she returned, with a bowl of soup and some fresh bread on a tray, he was propped up against some pillows, with a pile of hankies on his bedside table.

"I can never remember whether you starve a cold and feed a fever or the other way round," she said, putting the tray on the bed, and handing him a bowl.

"In this case, it's feed a Severus," he replied. He sniffed at the soup, allowing the warm steam to insinuate itself up his nostrils and begin its work. "I swear that the house elves use some sort of magic to make this so good."

"Which means you'll be well enough to teach tomorrow." Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, looking at his face and the way he relaxed when he was concentrating on the soup. He really did spend a lot of his time wound up like a cobra, ready to strike.

He shrugged. "You can't have everything."

"I certainly can't."

He put his hand out to pat hers resting on the coverlet. "On the other hand, you don't have a cold. It could be worse."

She stole a piece of his bread. It served him right for being sententious.


	25. Chapter 25

Severus was not better the next day, nor the next. Whatever magic was in the elves' chicken soup did not overcome his cold. He sniffled, and whinged, and sniffled some more, whilst Hermione ran backwards and forwards trying to keep him happy.

He managed to rally on Friday morning, and by the afternoon was out of bed, propped up on some cushions in front of the fire in his living room.

He was thinking hard.

More accurately, he was trying very hard not to think for he was being confronted with some unpalatable truths. Hermione had teased him about enjoying being poorly in some odd way, and he had to admit that he did. Not the sniffling, so much as having someone to cast warming charms on his feet, and cooling charms on a damp cloth over his forehead, and make sure his tea was just the way he liked it.

It was dawning on him that he when he thought about what the Second Mrs Snape should be like, he was thinking rather less about hair colour and breast size, and rather more that she should be like the First Mrs Snape.

And that lead inexorably to the thought that perhaps the First Mrs Snape might be persuaded to stay on in her current position even after the Minister had been replaced.

It was disconcerting. And irritating.

He blew his nose and glared at the fire.

Sod it.

Being accomplished at the art of role playing, he was quite able to distinguish between Hermione Granger, irritating student, and Hermione Snape, pleasant company. She was not his student, that was another girl, and so there could be no objection to him trying to get to know his wife better.

However, he was no Blaise Zabini to sweep a woman off her feet, so the route of chocolate and flowers and poetry was closed to him. She was grateful to him for his help - that was no basis for a successful relationship, or even an unsuccessful one, and at the back of his mind was the vague disquiet about the differences in their ages.

He glared at the fire again, and then, for a change, glared at the carpet.

For one blinding moment, he almost considered asking Lucius for advice on the basis that he actually spoke to women and was commonly held to even understand them. A bit. Or as much as his wife would allow him to anyway.

And then he came to his senses, and realised that was a Very Stupid thing to do indeed. He sighed, and closed his eyes, drifting off into an uncomfortable doze filled with dreams of being chased by busty blondes and being unable to get away.

When Hermione came in to check on him that morning, he tried to spot some sign of fondness for him in her face, but there was none; she was too busy being bracingly cheerful. On the other hand, she wasn't running away from his bad temper either.

"Are you feeling better?" she said briskly.

"A bit." He levered himself up in the bed, and took an experimental sniff. He could breathe again, and it didn't feel like someone was sitting on his chest. He did still feel odd though, and his temperature was still elevated. "I'm not sure my fever has gone."

She sat on the edge of the bed, and stared at him, as if she were wondering whether to file him under ill, or swinging the lead. She took his wrist, and counted to herself. "Your pulse seems a bit fast as well."

"Probably the shock of being upright for the first time in days," he offered, hoping she wouldn't pry too much into reasons for him being hot, flushed, and having a racing heart.

"Are you going to get up?"

He gripped the coverlet more firmly. "I thought I might. Just to see how I feel."

"Mmm," she replied. "I'm off to Hogsmeade this morning – without Blaise – is there anything you'd like me to fetch you from Honeyduke's?"

"Just a random selection," he said. "I'll leave it up to you. My money pouch is in the drawer; help yourself. The place will be crowded though. There's nothing like the prospect of groping a witch's tits to make a teenaged boy buy chocolate.

A dull red flush stained his cheeks as he realised what he'd said.

"You have no soul," she said, after a moment's pause.

"I do. I just don't think teenaged boys do. They're just being lead round by their hormones, and haven't the sense to know it. I should know; I was one once."

"So I've got to wait till they grow up then?"

"Or choose someone older," he replied, and wondered whether he'd said too much or not enough.

"Viktor didn't work out much better," she said, after giving him a very funny look. "He still wanted to talk about Quidditch rather a lot. Unless you mean someone... erm... older?"

"Er, yes?" he said, sounding rather more tentative than he had wanted. "Just something to think about. After all, I do have to find my replacement and ..." He trailed off, feeling and sounding like an idiot. She certainly seemed to think so, staring at him in mute fascination – or horror – and it was scant consolation that she hadn't actually run screaming from the room.

"Erm, I've been buying you an awful lot of chocolate," she replied, and then scurried out of the door before he had a chance to respond to that oracular pronouncement.

He stared at the door, as if it had the answers. It probably had more idea of what was going on that he had. It wouldn't be difficult.

Hermione didn't really want to go to Hogsmeade and be surrounded by teenagers on heat, but it seemed much the better option than being in the same rooms as Severus until she had managed to sort her head out.

Not that a Hogsmeade weekend was conducive to quiet thought, especially not when Ron and Lavender were attached to each other like rock to limpet, and with as many sucking noises. Harry and Hermione left them to it at one end of the Three Broomsticks, and taken another table to have a quiet butterbeer.

"It's a bit much, isn't it?" Harry said, one eye on the snogging pair. "I mean, I'm all for affection and that, but..."

"Do you ever think about getting a girlfriend?" Hermione asked. She couldn't imagine Severus with a girlfriend, ever. She could imagine him married, because he was married, but the process of buying chocolates for someone, and flowers, romantic dinners... No. And certainly no snogging in public, which was a mark in his favour.

"Sometimes."

"What do you think they'll be like?"

Harry looked startled. "Dunno. Never really thought about it. Don't have a preference between blondes and brunettes, and redheads are fine. Just someone nice, who likes me for me and not for being the Boy-Who-Lived. Someone who likes Quidditch would be good, but you can't have everything."

"I always thought I'd go out with someone bright, who read books a lot."

"Well, that's a given. You want a nice Ravenclaw, don't you?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm not sure."

Harry cocked his head at her. "You still pining for Blaise? We can still hex him for standing you up, you know. Or push him round in the corridors. Git."

"Not really." Hermione swirled her butterbeer round in her tankard, trying to find the right words. "The problem is that Ravenclaws don't want to make the world a better place, you see, and I do, and they'd want to read a book because it was interesting, and I'd always want to put that knowledge to some use. And... Gryffindors do want to make the world a better place, occasionally, but don't read much, so they won't do."

"Please tell me you're thinking of Hufflepuffs? There are some very pretty Hufflepuffs." Harry had moved from startled, to the sort of expression he wore when he realised he had ten minutes to finish his homework and had come up three feet short.

"Erm, no," she said carefully.

"Slytherins don't want to make the world a better place!"

"They do, you know. It's just they want to make it a better place for them."

"Oh, Christ," said Harry. "Not Malfoy. Please, not Malfoy."

"Don't be ridiculous. He's a complete idiot."

Harry took a big gulp of his butterbeer, then looked at her with horror, cheeks still bulging. He swallowed hard. "Snape?"

"I don't know," she hissed. "And keep your voice down."

"Snape!" Harry said again, though more sorrowfully than questioning. "Why?"

"I _like_ him. He's not irritating. He's aggravating, I grant you, but that's different. You can live with aggravating – you have a row, you sort things out, and that's it – you can't sort out irritating. People don't change that."

"You mean like the way Dudley breathes through his nose?" Harry was still wild eyed, but beginning to be intrigued. "Only on a bigger scale."

"Yea. He's always going to snuffle, and after a year or so you'd want to smack him, wouldn't you?" Hermione's parents had never had breakfast together in thirty years of marriage. Her mum said that was why they'd had thirty years of marriage, because her dad was a miserable git first thing in the morning.

"And Snape doesn't snuffle?"

"Metaphorically speaking." Hermione surveyed her glass again. "He's been doing a lot of snuffling with his cold."

"And you've been looking after him?"

Hermione nodded.

"I'd heard that nurses and patients could do this bonding thing, but that's a bit quick isn't it?"

"Anyone looking after Severus would be more driven to murder than love." She snorted. "It might be what's behind his sudden interest."

"What?"

"Being shown a bit of kindness," she said briskly. "Now, drink up. I've got chocolate to buy."

Severus had tried to rollover and go back to sleep, but the nagging sensation that he'd just made a complete arse of himself wouldn't allow him to relax. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see visions of Hermione telling all her little Gryffindor friends about it, and them all laughing about it.

He knew she wouldn't actually do that, and it was his subconscious reacting to being exposed, but ... He was still exposed, and would be, till she came to some sort of conclusion.

So he got up and got dressed and started pacing on the nundu skin hearthrug instead.

There was a moment when he considered arranging a romantic dinner for two for that evening.

There was nothing that could be more disastrous though. It would put unnecessary pressure on her to be kind, and on him to be nice, and would probably end up in a blazing row when he said something rude through nerves.

Though, civilised – _not_ Romantic - dinners every once in a while might be something they could try.

If things went well, there might be flowers on the table, eventually.

The hearthrug stared at him with glassy eyes. Perhaps he ought to redecorate a little, get the elves to make things a little more red... she liked red. The couch should be less battered, possibly have cushions, so that they could sit on it together.

When he found himself wondering whether it would be precipitate to get a new dressing gown, he bolted for the comfort of his Lab to brew some more cold remedies.

The queue in Honeyduke's was long, full of desperate teenagers making a last minute attempt to woo the object of their affections. It was also full of pink, and bows, and heart-shaped balloons.

She stood there, tapping her feet in irritation, as the Second Year in front of her was dithering about whether he was prepared to shell out the extra knuts for the special box of Love Sweets or just settle for the unKittened version. It was all so fake and sentimental, and it made her feel incredibly old to be surrounded by giggling children. Old and miserable.

The boy managed to make a decision – "Finally," she said – and disappeared into the throng, giving her one last filthy look. She was turning into a killjoy, exiled from her own peers.

"Right," she said to the shop assistant. "I want a pound of cockroach clusters."

"Do you want them wrapping?" he asked, and Harry laughed behind her.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just in a plain brown paper bag please."

"I can just see Snape's face if you turned up with a box of chocolates with a big pink bow," he said.

"And a box of your largest, finest chocolates, with the most nauseatingly sentimental scene on it," she said, barely pausing for breath.

"For Snape?" Harry said, boggling.

"No, for me." She slapped the necessary galleons down on the counter, and took her extravagantly wrapped parcel. "I'm going to enjoy something about today."

Severus mangled his ingredients three times before he admitted defeat. It was not the time to brew anything that required lightly crushed or finely chopped ingredients as opposed to well mashed, or crushed to buggery.

He glared at the chopping board, then abandoned it as a bad job.

His abstraction made him careless. Usually, he avoided lunch with his fellow teachers on Valentine's day. If they weren't teasing him about his unromantic attitude, they were pressuring him into taking on their supervisory duties so they could get away for some hot date.

He'd swapped staring at his chopping board for staring at his plate, when someone sat next to him and started talking to him. He ignored the irritating buzz as best he could, until he heard, "Isn't that right, Severus?"

"What?"

He looked up, and realised that Minerva had been talking to him for the last ten minutes, whilst he'd been away with the fairies.

"I said, you won't mind checking the Astronomy Tower tonight, to make sure that there aren't any students out of bounds, will you?" She fixed him with a hard gaze that said that his only option was to say yes, or admit that he hadn't been listening.

He nodded.

He may as well. It wasn't as if he had anything better to do. He flung his napkin down, and stood up, chair scraping across the stone.

"Are you all right?" she said, and put a hand on his arm.

"Oh, don't mind him. He's just being his usual grumpy self," Flitwick said.

"I'm fine," Severus bit out, turned sharply on his heel and left, robes billowing behind him. It was only with the greatest of difficulty that he refrained from clipping Filius' ear as he went past.

He was only allowed to do that to the students, Albus had said.

Hermione's mood did not improve. Everything and everyone was getting right up her nose.

"I'm going back to Hogwarts," she said.

"Oh, do you want me to come with you?" Harry replied.

"No. It's fine. Why don't you and Dean and the other lads go and talk about how horrible girls are for a bit."

"If you're sure."

Hermione nodded, and started the long walk home wishing she could Apparate and be done with it.

Severus went back to his quarters, but couldn't settle. The sofa was lumpy, all his books were dull, and the fireplace was crackling in an obtrusive way.

Hermione had left her cloak on a hook by the door. He hoped she'd be warm enough. The last thing he needed was for her to come down with a cold.

Perhaps he ought to take it to her?

He had taken it down from the peg, and laid it over his arm before he came to his senses.

Perhaps not. Definitely not.

He hung the damned thing back up. He'd use the time to catch up on his Potion's reading. Hermione would be interested in that...

Hermione wanted nothing more than to sit in her room and eat chocolate whilst reading something wholly unsuitable. She wasn't in the mood for the classics, or some deep treatise on alchemy. She wanted something light, fluffy, and full of crap sex, so she could sneer at it and feel superior.

She managed three chocolates, and half a chapter of 'The Wizard's Debt'.

The heroine was vapid and stupid and needed a good slap.

She tried again with 'Sarah does Slytherin', which was more interesting, and had rather less in the way of damsels in distress and a lot more damsels with strap ons. She sighed, took another chocolate, and wondered where Severus was.

Perhaps she ought to catch up with her Potion's reading so she could talk to Severus about it...

The Library was cold and dark, and entirely suited to Severus' miserable mood. It should also have been empty.

It wasn't.

Blaise Zabini was sitting in the corner near the Transfiguration texts, and looking out of the window with a look like a puppy who'd been kicked.

It took him fifteen minutes to rouse from his reverie and notice Snape, and then transfer his stare to him. It seemed accusing.

Snape lasted another fifteen minutes before being driven from the Library to find a new hiding place.

By the time Hermione arrived in the Library, looking for her husband, he was back in their quarters looking for her and finding a large box of chocolates opened on the table in front of the fire.

He'd have been suspicious, if he hadn't seen Blaise in the Library. She hadn't had time to entangle another boy, he was sure. He bent down and snaffled a chocolate, feeling mildly optimistic.

Separated by geography, nevertheless, the two of them shared one thought and one purpose – to track down their errant and aggravatingly absent spouse and have it out with them.

Failing that, Severus would settle for taking some points off all the nauseatingly cheerful pupils.

Hermione gazed out across the Quidditch pitch, and imagined that she could see couples copulating in their dozens. It wasn't as if you really had to book the Pitch in advance for Valentine's day, but neither was it wise to be wandering around there late at night on your own. Not without whistling noisily as you went.

She was probably keeping several amorous couples out of the Astronomy Tower, but she didn't care. If she wasn't going to have any Romance on this, the soppiest of days, she was damned if anyone else was going to.

Let them whinge at her, if they must; she'd take points, and remind them she was a prefect with responsibilities and a bright future ahead of her, unlike them with their silly cards, and their silly poems and their silly chocolates.

She kicked the wall, hard.

It was bloody unfair that boys seemed to like large breasts more than a capacity for hexing one's opponents into a smear of grease. The Slytherin boys, who might be expected to appreciate that kind of skill, were unable to get over the small issue of her blood, and the large, looming issue of her husband.

She kicked the wall again, but not as hard, because the last time had hurt a bit.

She'd promised not to cheat on him whilst she was at school, and that had seemed like a reasonable condition at the time, and even more so now that he'd sort of hinted that maybe he'd like to ... But she knew, with sickening bitterness, that she was going to be the only girl in her year who would leave Hogwarts without a fumble on the top of the blessed Tower. She was going to go straight from child to adult without any adolescent groping, which was a relief in many ways, but she also felt cheated, and a bit out of her depth.

She could have done with a bit more practice before taking Severus on.

"Ten points from ... oh," Severus said from behind her, as if summoned up by her thinking about him. "I rather expected to find couples up here, snogging."

"No chance of that," Hermione said bitterly. "Not with me around."

Severus frowned. "I should hope not, it would be..."

"... terribly embarrassing for you, I know."

"Well, it would," he replied, feeling obscurely defensive.

"I know." Hermione sighed. "Still, I'm allowed to feel sorry for myself now and again. I've never had a snog on the Astronomy Tower, and I never will."

"I can't say that I saw a lot of excitement up here either," he replied. "And I would say, look how I turned out, but I wouldn't want to depress you further."

Severus moved to stand by her and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. "You'll just have to settle for bringing down the Ministry before you leave school."

She didn't reply. Bringing down the Ministry was all well and good but she wanted a card, some flowers, and a box of chocolates that she hadn't bought herself.

"I hate Valentine's day," he added.

"It is stupid, isn't it?" she replied. "Still…"

"Still…" he agreed.

They both stared out across the Quidditch pitch, and the silence verged on companionable.

"I tell you what," Hermione said suddenly. "Next year, I'll send you a Valentine. A nice, tasteful one, but absolutely sodding huge, and an enormous box of chocolates. Perhaps even a book of poetry. Something to show that you're appreciated by someone, even if it's not like that." She looked at him, trying to work out whether what he'd been talking about that morning was what she thought.

"That might be interesting." He could just imagine what the reaction would be; it would be entertaining if nothing else. "I could send you some flowers, in return, though I suppose you'll have some sort of young man in tow by then." He was damned if he was going to ask her anything more directly than that.

Hermione shrugged. "Well, if I do, it'll keep him on his toes, won't it? And you might have met the Second Mrs Snape by then, and it will keep her on her toes. Neither of us would want to be taken for granted, would we?"

"Absolutely not," he replied. "I've had far too much of that in my life already."

"Me too," she said. "Me too."

He leaned forward a little and rested his elbows on the window ledge. "It's a nice view," he said. "Usually it's a nice view, when there's daylight and you can see things. I used to spend a lot of time up here when I was a student – you could get lots of peace and quiet to get some studying done, and you could hear people coming in plenty of time to get your hexes ready."

"It's odd to think you were ever a student," she replied.

"We were all young once," he said. "Even Albus. He was once an ickle firstie, wandering round the castle, worrying about getting lost, and hoping that the next Bertie Bott's bean he ate wasn't going to be sick-flavoured."

Hermione wrinkled her nose at the thought of sick-flavoured beans. "I've never come up here much; I'd rather spend time in the Library. That's always worked for me as a hiding place – not much chance of Ron or Harry coming to find me there, or anyone else for that matter."

"I suppose it's a hangover from my first year. Lucius was courting Narcissa, and roped me in to keep watch whilst he was … persuading her. I spent a lot of time in the Tower that year."

"She was very hard to persuade was she?" Hermione grinned.

"She made him work for every moment of her time. He was besotted with her then, and still is. At the time, I thought it was disgusting and soppy – now I realise it was a grand passion." Underneath the mocking tone, he sounded faintly wistful. "It's still unwise to enter a room in Malfoy Manor without coughing loudly to announce yourself."

"That's… disturbing, you know."

"Not as disturbing as actually seeing it," he replied, and Hermione laughed.

"Well, I shall console myself with the thought that they are the exception, not the rule. Lots of people fancy themselves desperately in love in their seventh year, and then split up the day before they leave Hogwarts when they realise that they can't stand the thought of actually spending another minute together."

"I'd have liked a chance to have proved it," he replied, and tapped his boot against the wall in something close to a kick.

"Technically, technically, you know, you haven't left Hogwarts yet. So there is plenty of time for you to entice someone of the opposite sex up here for a snog. You just have to manage it at some point before you retire…"

Severus wore that look that Harry would have called sulky, and which she, after several months of marriage, would be generous enough to call discontented. He had reason to be – in six months she would be free of this place, and have a chance to build a new life for herself. He'd never been given that luxury. He'd been trapped here first by one master, and then another, and still wasn't free. She supposed in some way, she too had trapped him, though of all his owners she had at least had the courtesy of asking him first.

And offered him sort of reward for doing it. Several rewards, really, if you counted the cockroach clusters, which she didn't.

She felt something simultaneously squeeze her chest, and tighten her throat. She really was incredibly fond of him now, not that he'd ever allow her to say so.

Prompted by this inchoate and indefinable feeling, she leaned forward a little and kissed him. She'd intended to give him a quick peck, nothing more complicated than that, but, well, she'd always been a thorough girl who'd never liked skimping.

Mercifully, he didn't ask what was going on, or what she thought she was playing at or where they were going with all this, but his eyes half-closed and he tipped his head a little sideways and allowed her to move a little closer.

She put a hand on his shoulder – purely to steady herself – but it developed independent movement and slid round to the nape of his neck, so her other hand had to be moved to his other shoulder because she was feeling a little unsteady.

And this was something that Severus was clearly concerned about, because he very considerately made sure she was safely propped up against the wall and wrapped an arm round her waist.

He tasted bitter, like dark chocolate; the sort of bitter that made you want to come back for more and lingered on the palate for hours afterwards overpowering all other flavours.

He encouraged her to open her mouth a little wider, and deftly insinuated his tongue between her teeth in a manner that would have done his house crest proud and made her knees go weak and clutch at him even harder.

It was a startling contrast to the awkwardness of their first kiss, but neither of them had been putting their heart and soul into it then.

She may not have had the most conventional of courtships, but there was something to be said for an older and more practiced partner. And there was nothing that anyone could say about things, because, although she was currently kissing a teacher, which surely gave her bonus Slytherin Cool points in the competition of life, but she was married to the man, so that no one could complain.

And she was still going to bring down the Ministry before she left school.


End file.
